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VOL.   I 

Vronsky  pleading  with  Anna. 

Original  Drawing  by  E.   Boyd  Smith. 

Anna  Karenina 



.    BY   NATHAN    HASKELL   DOLE    . 







Copyright,  1899, 


ALEXANDER  PUSHKIN,  Russia's  greatest  poet 
and  the  inspirer  of  the  two  best  works  of  Gogol, 
the  father  of  Russian  realism,  may  perhaps  be  regarded 
as  the  direct  cause  of  Count  Tolstoi's  greatest  novel. 
A  relative  happened  to  be  visiting  at  Yasnaya  Polyana, 
and  had  been  reading  a  volume  of  Pushkin.  Count 
Tolstoi  picked  up  the  work  and  opened  it  casually. 
Some  one  entered  as  he  was  glancing  over  the  pages, 
and  he  exclaimed,  "  Here  is  something  charming !  This 
is  the  way  to  write !  Pushkin  goes  to  the  heart  of  the 

Count  Tolstof  was  so  impressed  by  Pushkin's  direct- 
ness that  he  immediately  felt  like  emulating  him.  He 
asked  to  be  kept  free  from  interruptions,  shut  himself 
into  his  library,  and  began  "Anna  Karenina." 

The  publication  of  it  began  in  the  Russky  Viestnik 
or  Ricssian  Messenger  in  1875;  but  it  was  frequently 
interrupted.  Months  and  even  years  elapsed  before  it 
was  concluded ;  yet  it  kept  public  attention.  Not  even 
the  break  of  several  months  between  two  of  the  parts 
was  sufficient  to  cool  the  interest  of  its  reader.  After 
the  appearance  of  the  first  part  he  wrote  a  friend :  — 

"  You  praise  '  Anna  Karenina,'  and  that  is  very  pleas- 
ant to  me ;  the  more  so  as  I  hear  much  in  its  favor ; 
but  I  am  sure  that  there  never  was  an  author  more 
indifferent  to  his  success  than  I  am  in  this  case." 

A  year  later  he  wrote :  — 

"  For  two  whole  months  I  have  forborne  to  stain  my 
hands  with  ink  or  to  burden  my  heart  with  thoughts. 
Now,  however,  I  turn  once  more  to  that  dull  common- 
place *  Anna  Karenina,'  moved  solely  to  rid  my  desk  of 
it  —  to  make  room  for  other  tasks." 



Even  then  he  did  not  finish  it.  The  next  year  he 
wrote :  "  The  end  of  winter  and  the  opening  of  spring 
are  my  busiest  months  for  work.  I  must  finish  the 
novel  of  which  I  have  grown  so  tired."  But  when  he 
once  took  hold  of  it  the  spirit  of  it  quickly  seized  him 
again,  and  much  of  it  was  written,  as  any  one  can  see, 
with  almost  breathless  haste. 

Polevoif,  in  his  illustrated  "  History  of  Russian  Litera- 
ture," says  of  this  story:  "Count  Tolsto'f  dwells  with 
especial  fondness  on  the  sharp  contrast  between  the 
frivolity,  the  tinsel  brightness,  the  tumult  and  vanity,  of 
the  worldly  life,  and  the  sweet,  holy  calm  enjoyed  by 
those  who,  possessing  the  soil,  live  amid  the  beauties  of 
Nature  and  the  pleasures  of  the  family." 

This  contrast  will  strike  the  attention  of  every  reader. 
It  is  the  outgrowth  of  Count  Tolstoi's  own  life  ;  his  dual 
nature  is  portrayed  in  the  contrasting  careers  of  Levin 
and  Vronsky.  The  interweaving  of  two  stories  is  done 
with  a  masterly  hand.  One  may  take  them  separately 
or  together ;  each  strand  of  the  twisted  rope  follows  its 
own  course,  and  yet  each  without  the  other  would  be 
evidently  incomplete. 

As  one  reads,  one  forgets  that  it  is  fiction.  It  seems 
like  a  transcript  of  real  life,  and  one  is  constantly  im- 
pressed by  the  vast  accumulation  of  pictures,  each  illus- 
trating and  explaining  the  vital  elements  of  the  epopee. 
At  times  one  is  startled  by  the  vivifying  flashes  of 
genius.  The  death  of  Anna  is  dimly  suggested  by  the 
tragic  occurrence  of  the  brakeman's  death  in  the  Mos- 
cow railway  station.  A  still  more  suggestive  intimation 
of  the  approaching  tragedy  is  found  in  the  death  of 
Vronsky's  horse  during  the  officers'  handicap  race  at 
Peterhof.  If  one  may  so  speak,  the  atmosphere  of  the 
story  is  electrified  with  fate.  In  this  respect  it  is  Hke 
a  Greek  drama.     There  is  never  a  false  touch. 

Count  Tolstoi's  brother-in-law  says  there  is  no  doubt 
that  Levin  is  the  portrait  of  the  novehst  himself,  but 
represented  as  being  "extremely  simple  in  order  to  bring 
him  into  still  greater  contrast  with  the  representatives 
of  high  life  in  Moscow  and  St.  Petersburg."     He  also 


says  that  the  description  of  the  way  that  Levin  and 
Kitty  make  use  of  the  initial  letters  of  the  words  in 
which  they  wish  to  express  to  each  other  their  mutual 
love  is  faithful  in  its  minutest  details  to  the  history  of 
Count  Tolstoi's  own  wooing.  And  undoubtedly  many 
of  the  experiences  of  Levin  on  his  estate  are  also  tran- 
scripts of  Count  Tolstoi's  own  experiences. 

Tolstoi,  like  Levin,  sought  to  reform  and  to  better 
everything  about  him,  and  took  part  in  the  Liberal 
movements  of  the  time ;  but  his  schemes  came  to  naught, 
one  after  the  other,  and  his  nihilism,  —  for  he  declares 
in  his  confession  that  he  was  a  Nihilist  in  the  actual 
meaning  of  the  word,  —  his  nihilism  triumphs  in  bitter- 
ness on  their  ruins.  The  struggle  in  Levin's  mind  and 
the  horror  of  his  despair  tempting  him  also  to  suicide 
are  marvelously  depicted.  At  length,  as  in  Tolstoi's 
real  life,  the  muzhik  comes  to  his  aid,  light  illumines 
his  soul,  and  the  work  ends  in  a  burst  of  mystic  happi- 
ness, a  hymn  of  joy,  which  he  sings  to  his  inmost  soul, 
not  sharing  it  with  his  beloved  wife,  though  he  knows 
that  she  knows  the  secret  of  his  happiness. 

Interesting  and  instructive  as  this  idyllic  romance  is, 
the  chief  power  of  the  novelist  is  expended  in  portray- 
ing the  illicit  love  of  Vronsky  and  Anna.  Its  moral 
is  the  opposition  of  duty  to  passion.  It  has  been  said 
that  the  love  that  unites  the  two  protagonists  is  sincere, 
deep,  almost  holy  despite  its  illegality.  They  were  born 
for  each  other ;  it  was  love  at  first  sight,  a  love  which 
overleapt  all  bonds  and  bounds.  But  its  gratification  at 
the  expense  of  honor  brings  the  inevitable  torment,  espe- 
cially to  the  woman  who  had  sacrificed  so  much.  The 
agony  of  remorse,  intensified  by  the  mortifications  and 
humiliations  caused  by  her  position,  unites  itself  with 
an  almost  insane  jealousy,  product  also  of  the  unstable 
relation  in  which  she  is  placed.  At  last  the  union 
becomes  so  irksome,  so  painful,  so  hateful,  that  the  only 
escape  from  it  is  in  suicide. 

Count  Tolstoi  manages  with  consummate  skill  to  retain 
his  own  respect  for  the  guilty  woman.  Consequently 
the  reader's  love  and  sympathy  for  the  unhappy  woman 


never  flag.  He  lays  bare  each  throb  of  her  tortured 
heart.     He  is  the  Parrhasius  of  novehsts. 

Mr.  Howells  says :  "  The  warmth  and  Hght  of  Tol- 
stoi's good  heart  and  right  mind  are  seen  in  'Anna 
Karenina,'  that  saddest  story  of  guilty  love  in  which 
nothing  can  save  the  sinful  woman  from  herself,  —  not 
her  husband's  forgiveness,  her  friend's  compassion,  her 
lover's  constancy,  or  the  long  intervals  of  quiet  in  which 
she  seems  safe  and  happy  in  her  sin.  It  is  she  who 
destroys  herself  persistently,  step  by  step,  in  spite  of  all 
help  and  forbearance ;  and  yet  we  are  never  allowed  to 
forget  how  good  and  generous  she  was  when  we  first 
met  her ;  how  good  and  generous  she  is  fitfully,  and 
more  and  more  rarely  to  the  end.  Her  lover  works  out 
a  sort  of  redemption  through  his  patience  and  devotion ; 
he  grows  gentler,  wiser,  worthier  through  it ;  but  even 
his  good  destroys  her." 

Mr.  Howells  also  comments  on  the  extraordinary 
vitality  of  the  work. 

"  A  multitude  of  figures  pass  before  us,"  he  says, 
"recognizably  real,  never  caricatured  nor  grotesqued, 
noP*in  any  way  unduly  accented,  but  simple  and  actual 
in  t]^ir  evil  or  their  good.  There  is  lovely  family  Ufe, 
the  tenderness  of  father  and  daughter,  the  rapture  of 
young  wife  and  husband,  the  innocence  of  girlhood,  the 
beauty  of  fidelity  ;  there  is  the  unrest  and  folly  of  fashion, 
the  misery  of  wealth,  and  the  wretchedness  of  wasted 
and  mistaken  Ufe,  the  hollowness  of  ambition,  the  cheer- 
ful emptiness  of  some  hearts,  the  dull  emptiness  of 
others.  It  is  a  world,  and  you  Hve  in  it  while  you  read 
and  long  afterward,  but  at  no  step  have  you  been  be- 
trayed, not  because  your  guide  has  warned  or  exalted 
you,  but  because  he  has  been  true,  and  has  shown  you 
all  things  as  they  are." 

It  is  hardly  worth  while  to  particularize  the  immortal 
scenes  with  which  the  panoramic  canvas  is  crowded, 
though  the  Vicomte  de  Vogii^  characterizes  the  death- 
bed scene  of  NikolaY  Levin  as  "  one  of  the  most  finished 
masterpieces  of  which  Uterature  has  reason  to  be  proud," 
and  the  description  of  the  races  at  Tsarskoye-Selo,  apart 


from  its  tragic  moment,  is  amazing  for  its  vividness  and 
beauty.  Indeed,  there  are  dozens  of  wonderful  pictures 
of  life  and  death  in  the  story.  And  no  translation, 
however  faithful,  can  do  justice  to  the  quiet  humor 
packed  away  often  in  a  single  word  of  the  staccato  mu- 
zhik dialect,  which  no  one  ever  handled  more  success- 
fully than  Count  Tolstoi. 

The  translation  has  been  thoroughly  revised  and 
largely  rewritten.  All  passages  formerly  omitted  have 
been  restored,  and  the  occasional  temptation  to  em- 
broider by  paraphrase  on  what  the  author  left  purposely 
simple,  plain,  and  direct,  has  been  resisted. 

The  Russian  words  and  interjections  (which,  with  the 
idea  of  giving  local  color,  were  employed  in  the  first 
edition)  have  been  for  the  most  part  eliminated,  and  the 
glossary  is  therefore  superfluous.  The  translator's  whole 
purpose  has  been  to  give  a  faithful  presentation  of  this 
immortal  work. 


Aleksel  Aleksandrovitch  Karenin. 

Anna  Arkadyevna  Karenina  (Madame  Karenin). 

Count  Aleksei  (Alosha)  Kirillovitch  Vronsky. 

His  mother,  the  Countess  Vronsky  or  Vronskaya. 

His  brother,  Aleksandr  Kirillovitch  Vronsky. 

Prince  {Kniaz)  Stephan  (Stiva)  Arkadyevitch  Oblonsky. 

Princess  {Kniaginya)  Darya  (Dolly,  Dolinka,  Dashenka)  Aleksandrovna 

Oblonsky  or  Oblonskaya. 
Konstantin  (Kostia)  Dmitriyevitch  (Dmitritch)  Levin,  proprietor  of  Po- 

His  brother,  Nikolai  Dmitriyevitch  Levin. 
His  mistress,  Marya  Nikolayevna. 

His  kalf-brother,  Sergyel  Ivanovitch  (Ivanuitch,  Ivanitch)  Koznuishef. 
Prince  Aleksandr  Shcherbatsky. 
Princess  Shcherbatsky  or  Shcherbatskaya. 
Their  daughter,  the  Princess  (^Kniazhna)  Yekaterina  (Kitty,  Katyonka, 

Katerina,    Katya)    Aleksandrovna    Shcherbatsky  or   Shcherbatskaya 

(afterwards  Levin  or  Levina). 
Their  nephew,  Prince  Nikolai  Shcherbatsky. 



"  Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay  " 


ALL  happy  families  resemble  one  another;  every 
unhappy  family  is  unhappy  in  its  own  way. 

All  was  confusion  in  the  house  of  the  Oblonskys. 
The  wife  had  discovered  that  her  husband  was  having 
an  intrigue  with  a  French  governess  who  had  been  in 
their  employ,  and  she  declared  that  she  could  not  live 
in  the  same  house  with  him.  This  condition  of  things 
had  lasted  now  three  days,  and  was  causing  deep  dis- 
comfort, not  only  to  the  husband  and  wife,  but  also  to  all 
the  members  of  the  family  and  the  domestics.  All  the 
members  of  the  family  and  the  domestics  felt  that  there 
was  no  sense  in  their  living  together,  and  that  in  any 
hotel  people  meeting  casually  had  more  mutual  inter- 
ests than  they,  the  members  of  the  family  and  the 
domestics  of  the  house  of  Oblonsky.  The  wife  did  not 
come  out  of  her  own  rooms ;  the  husband  had  not  been 
at  home  for  two  days.  The  children  were  running  over 
the  whole  house  as  if  they  were  crazy ;  the  English 
maid  was  angry  with  the  housekeeper  and  wrote  to  a 
friend  begging  her  to  find  her  a  new  place.  The  head 
cook  had  departed  the  evening  before  just  at  dinner- 
time ;  the  kitchen-maid  and  the  coachman  demanded 
their  wages. 

On  the  third  day  after  the  quarrel,  Prince  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch  Oblonsky  —  Stiva,  as  he  was  called  in 
society  —  awoke  at  the  usual  hour,  that  is  to  say  about 

VOL.  I.  —  I  I 


eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  not  in  his  wife's  chamber, 
but  in  his  library,  on  a  leather-covered  divan.  He 
turned  his  portly  pampered  body  on  the  springs  of  the 
divan,  as  if  intending  to  go  to  sleep  again,  and  as  he 
did  so  threw  his  arm  round  the  cushion  and  pressed  his 
cheek  to  it.     But  suddenly  he  sat  up  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  well !  how  was  it .-' "  he  mused,  recalling  a 
dream.  "  Yes,  how  was  it .''  Yes  !  Alabin  was  giving  a 
dinner  at  Darmstadt ;  no,  not  at  Darmstadt,  but  it  was 
something  American.  Yes,  but  that  Darmstadt  was  in 
America.  Yes,  Alabin  was  giving  a  dinner  on  glass 
tables,  yes,  and  the  tables  sang  '//  inio  tesoro '  /  no,  not 
'//  mio  tesoro,'  but  something  better;  and  some  little 
water-bottles,  they  were  women ! "  said  he,  continuing 
his  recollections. 

Prince  Stepan's  eyes  flashed  gayly  and  he  smiled  as 
he  said  to  himself  :  — 

"  Yes,  it  was  very  good,  very  good.  There  was  some- 
thing extremely  elegant  about  it,  but  you  can't  tell  it  in 
words,  and  when  you  are  awake  you  can't  express  the 
reality  even  in  thought." 

Then,  as  he  noticed  a  ray  of  sunlight  which  came  in  at 
the  side  of  one  of  the  heavy  window-curtains,  he  gayly 
set  his  feet  down  from  the  divan,  found  his  gilt  morocco 
slippers  —  they  had  been  embroidered  for  him  by  his  wife 
the  year  before  as  a  birthday  present  —  and,  according 
to  an  old  custom  which  he  had  kept  up  for  nine  years, 
he,  without  rising,  stretched  out  his  hand  to  the  place 
where  in  his  chamber  hung  his  dressing-gown.  And  then 
he  suddenly  remembered  how  and  why  he  had  been 
sleeping,  not  in  his  wife's  chamber,  but  in  the  library; 
the  smile  vanished  from  his  face  and  he  frowned. 

"  Akh  !  akh  !  akh  !  akh  !  "  he  groaned,  as  he  recol- 
lected everything  that  had  occurred.  And  before  his 
mind  arose  once  more  all  the  details  of  the  quarrel  with 
his  wife,  all  the  hopelessness  of  his  situation,  and  most 
lamentable  of  all,  his  own  fault. 

"  No  !  she  will  not  and  she  cannot  forgive  me.  And 
what  is  the  worst  of  it,  't  was  my  own  fault  —  my  own 
fault,  and  yet  I  am  not  to  blame.     In  that  lies  all  the 


tragedy  of  it,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Akh  !  akh  !  akh  !  " 
he  kept  murmuring  in  his  despair,  as  he  thought  over 
the  exceedingly  unpleasant  consequences  that  would 
result  to  him  from  this  quarrel. 

The  most  disagreeable  moment  was  at  the  very  first, 
when,  as  he  came  home  from  the  theater,  happy  and 
self-satisfied,  bringing  a  monstrous  pear  for  his  wife,  he 
did  not  find  her  in  the  sitting-room,  nor,  to  his  surprise, 
was  she  in  the  library,  and  at  last  he  saw  her  in  her  cham- 
ber holding  the  fatal,  all-revealing  letter  in  her  hand. 

She  —  Dolly,  that  forever  busy  and  fussy  and  foolish 
creature  as  he  always  considered  her  —  was  sitting  mo- 
tionless with  the  note  in  her  hand,  and  looked  at  him 
with  an  expression  of  terror,  despair,  and  wrath. 

"  What  is  this  ?  This  ?  "  she  demanded,  pointing  to 
the  note. 

And  as  often  happens,  Stepan's  torment  at  this  recollec- 
tion was  caused  less  by  the  fact  itself  than  by  the  answer 
which  he  gave  to  those  words  of  his  wife.  His  experi- 
ence at  that  moment  was  the  same  as  other  people  have 
had  when  unexpectedly  detected  in  some  shameful  deed. 
He  was  unable  to  prepare  his  face  for  the  situation  caused 
by  his  wife's  discovery  of  his  sin.  Instead  of  getting 
offended,  denying  it,  justifying  himself,  asking  forgive- 
ness, or  even  showing  indifference  —  anything  would 
have  been  better  than  what  he  really  did  —  in  spite  of 
himself  (by  a  reflex  action  of  the  brain  as  Stepan  Arka- 
dyevitch  explained  it,  for  he  loved  Physiology)  abso- 
lutely in  spite  of  himself  he  suddenly  smiled  with  his 
ordinary  good-humored  and  therefore  stupid  smile. 

He  could  not  forgive  himself  for  that  stupid  smile. 
When  Dolly  saw  that  smile,  she  trembled  as  with  phys- 
ical pain,  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  bitter  words,  quite 
in  accordance  with  her  natural  temper,  and  fled  from 
the  room.  Since  that  time  she  had  not  been  willing  to 
see  her  husband. 

"  That  stupid  smile  caused  the  whole  trouble," 
thought  Stepan  Arkadyevitch. 

"  But  what  is  to  be  done  about  it,  what  is  to  be  done  } " 
he  asked  himself  in  despair,  and  found  no  answer. 



Stepan  Arkadyevitch  was  a  sincere  man  as  far  as 
he  himself  was  concerned.  He  could  not  practise  self- 
deception  and  persuade  himself  that  he  repented  of  his 
behavior.  He  could  not,  as  yet,  feel  sorry  that  he,  a 
handsome,  susceptible  man  of  four  and  thirty,  was  not 
now  in  love  with  his  wife,  the  mother  of  his  five  living 
and  two  buried  children,  though  she  was  only  a  year 
his  junior.  He  regretted  only  that  he  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  hiding  it  better  from  her.  But  he  felt  the 
whole  weight  of  his  situation  and  pitied  his  wife,  his 
children,  and  himself.  Possibly  he  would  have  had  bet- 
ter success  in  hiding  his  peccadilloes  from  his  wife  had 
he  realized  that  this  knowledge  would  have  had  such  an 
effect  upon  her.  He  had  never  before  thought  clearly  of 
this  question,  but  he  had  a  dim  idea  that  his  wife  had 
long  been  aware  that  he  was  not  faithful  to  her,  and 
looked  at  it  through  her  fingers.  As  she  had  lost  her 
freshness,  was  beginning  to  look  old,  was  no  longer 
pretty  and  far  from  distinguished  and  entirely  common- 
place, though  she  was  an  excellent  mother  of  a  family, 
he  had  thought  that  she  would  allow  her  innate  sense 
of  justice  to  plead  for  him.  But  it  had  proved  to  be 
quite  the  contrary. 

"  Akh,  how  wretched !  aJ !  ai' !  ai" !  how  wretched !  " 
said  Prince  Stepan  to  himself  over  and  over  and  could 
not  find  any  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  "  And  how  well 
everything  was  going  until  this  happened !  How  de- 
lightfully we  lived !  She  was  content,  happy  with  the 
children  ;  I  never  interfered  with  her  in  any  way,  I 
allowed  her  to  do  as  she  pleased  with  the  children  and 
the  household !  To  be  sure  it  was  bad  that  she 
had  been  the  governess  in  our  own  house ;  that 
was  bad.  There  is  something  trivial  and  common  in 
playing  the  gallant  to  one's  own  governess  !  But  what 
a  governess ! " 

He  vividly  recalled  Mile.  Roland's  black  roguish  eyes 
and  her  smile. 


"But  then,  while  she  was  here  in  the  house  with  us,  I 
did  not  permit  myself  any  liberties.  And  the  worst  of 
all  is  that  she  is  already....  All  this  must  needs  happen 
just  to  spite  me.  Al!  ail  al'l  But  what,  what  is  to  be 
done  ? " 

There  was  no  answer  except  that  common  answer 
which  life  gives  to  all  the  most  complicated  and  unsolva- 
ble  questions,  —  this  answer :  You  must  live  according 
to  circumstances,  in  other  words,  forget  yourself.  But 
as  you  cannot  forget  yourself  in  sleep  —  at  least  till 
night,  as  you  cannot  return  to  that  music  which  the 
water-bottle  woman  sang,  therefore  you  must  forget 
yourself  in  the  dream  of  life ! 

"We  shall  see  by  and  by,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch 
to  himself,  and  rising  he  put  on  his  gray  dressing-gown 
with  blue  silk  lining,  tied  the  tassels  into  a  knot,  and 
took  a  full  breath  into  his  ample  lungs.  Then  with  his 
usual  firm  step,  his  legs  spread  somewhat  apart  and 
easily  bearing  the  solid  weight  of  his  body,  he  went 
over  to  the  window,  lifted  the  curtain,  and  loudly  rang 
the  bell.  It  was  instantly  answered  by  his  old  friend 
and  valet  Matve,  who  came  in  bringing  his  clothes, 
boots,  and  a  telegram.  Behind  Matve  came  the  barber 
with  the  shaving  utensils. 

"  Are  there  any  papers  from  the  court-house  } "  asked 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  taking  the  telegram  and  taking 
his  seat  in  front  of  the  mirror. 

...."On  the  breakfast-table,"  replied  Matve,  looking 
inquiringly  and  with  sympathy  at  his  master,  and  after 
an  instant's  pause,  added  with  a  sly  smile,  "  They  have 
come  from  the  boss  of  the  livery-stable." 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  made  no  reply  and  only  looked 
at  Matve  in  the  mirror.  By  the  look  which  they  inter- 
changed it  could  be  seen  how  they  understood  each 
other.  The  look  of  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  seemed  to 
ask,  "  Why  did  you  say  that  .■*     Don't  you  know.?" 

Matve  thrust  his  hands  in  his  jacket  pockets,  kicked 
out  his  leg,  and  silently,  good-naturedly,  almost  smiling, 
looked  back  to  his  master :  — 

"  I  ordered  him  to  come  on  Sunday,  and  till  then  that 


you  and  I  should  not  be  annoyed  without  reason,"  said 
he,  with  a  phrase  evidently  ready  on  his  tongue. 

Stepan  Arkady evitch  perceived  that  Matve  wanted  to 
make  some  jesting  reply  and  attract  attention  to  him- 
self. Tearing  open  the  telegram,  he  read  it,  using  his 
wits  to  make  out  the  words,  that  were  as  usual  blindly 
written,  and  his  face  brightened. 

.... "  Matve,  sister  Anna  Arkadyevna  will  be  here 
to-morrow,"  said  he,  staying  for  a  moment  the  plump 
gleaming  hand  of  his  barber,  who  was  making  a  pink 
path  through  his  long,  curly  whiskers. 

"Thank  God,"  cried  Matve,  showing  by  this  excla- 
mation that  he  understood  as  well  as  his  master  the 
significance  of  this  arrival,  that  it  meant  that  Anna 
Arkadyevna,  Prince  Stepan's  loving  sister,  might  effect 
a  reconciliation  between  husband  and  wife. 

"  Alone,  or  with  her  husband  ^  "  asked  Matve. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  could  not  speak,  as  the  barber 
was  engaged  on  his  upper  lip,  but  he  lifted  one  finger. 
Matve  nodded  his  head  toward  the  mirror. 

"Alone.     Get  her  room  ready .-* " 

"  Report  to  Darya  Aleksandrovna,  and  let  her  decide." 

"To  Darya  Aleksandrovna.?  "repeated  Matve,  rather 

"Yes!  report  to  her.  And  here,  take  the  telegram, 
give  it  to  her,  and  do  as  she  says." 

"  You  want  to  try  an  experiment,"  was  the  thought 
in  Matve's  mind ;  but  he  only  said,  "  I  will  obey! " 

By  this  time  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  had  finished  his 
bath  and  his  toilet,  and  was  just  putting  on  his  clothes, 
when  Matve,  stepping  slowly  with  squeaking  boots,  and 
with  the  telegram  in  his  hand,  returned  to  the  room. 
The  barber  was  no  longer  there. 

"  Darya  Aleksandrovna  bade  me  tell  you  she  is  going 
away.  just  as  he  —  as  you — please  about  it," 
said  Matve,  with  a  smile  lurking  in  his  eyes.  Thrust- 
ing his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  bending  his  head  to 
one  side,  he  looked  at  his  master.  Stepan  Arkadyevitch 
was  silent.  Then  a  good-humored  and  rather  pitiful 
smile  lighted  up  his  handsome  face. 


"  Well,  Matve?"  he  said,  shaking  his  head. 

"  It 's  nothing,  sir ;  she  will  come  to  her  senses," 
answered  Matve. 

"  Will  come  to  her  senses  ?" 

"  Sure  she  will !  " 

"Do  you  think  so?  —  Who  is  there?"  asked  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch,  hearing  the  rustle  of  a  woman's  dress 
behind  the  door. 

"  It 's  ine^'  said  a  powerful  and  pleasant  female  voice, 
and  in  the  doorway  appeared  the  severe  and  pimply 
face  of  Matriona  Filimonovna,  the  nurse. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  Matriosha?"  asked  Stepan  Ar- 
kadyevitch, going  to  meet  her  at  the  door. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  Stepan  Arkadyevitch 
was  entirely  in  the  wrong  as  regarded  his  wife,  and  he 
himself  acknowledged  it,  still  almost  every  one  in  the 
house,  even  the  old  nurse,  Darya  Aleksandrovna's  chief 
friend,  was  on  his  side. 

"  Well,  what  ?  "  he  asked  gloomily. 

"  You  go  down,  sir,  ask  her  forgiveness,  just  once. 
Perhaps  the  Lord  will  bring  it  out  right.  She  is  tor- 
menting herself  grievously,  and  it  is  pitiful  to  see  her; 
and  everything  in  the  house  is  going  criss-cross.  The 
children,  sir,  you  must  have  pity  on  them.  Ask  her 
forgiveness,  sir !  What  is  to  be  done  ?  No  gains  with- 
out pains."  .... 

"But  you  see  she  won't  accept  an  apology.".... 

"  But  you  do  your  part.  God  is  merciful,  sir ;  pray  to 
God.     God  is  merciful." 

"Very  well,  then,  come  on,"  said  Stepan  Arkadye- 
vitch, suddenly  turning  red  in  the  face.  —  "Very  well,  let 
me  have  my  clothes,"  said  he,  turning  to  Matve,  and 
resolutely  throwing  off  his  dressing-gown. 

Matve  had  everything  all  ready  for  him,  and  stood 
blowing  off  something  invisible  from  the  shirt  stiff  as  a 
horse-collar,  and  with  evident  satisfaction  he  put  it  over 
his  master's  well-groomed  body. 



Having  dressed,  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  sprinkled 
himself  with  perfume,  straightened  the  sleeves  of  his 
shirt,  according  to  his  usual  routine  put  into  his  various 
pockets  cigarettes,  his  letter-case,  matches,  his  watch 
with  its  double  chain  and  locket,  and,  shaking  out  his 
handkerchief,  feeling  clean,  well-perfumed,  healthy,  and 
physically  happy  in  spite  of  his  unhappiness,  went  out 
somewhat  unsteadily  to  the  dining-room,  where  his  cof- 
fee was  already  waiting  for  him,  and  next  the  coffee  his 
letters  and  the  papers  from  the  court-house. 

He  read  his  letters.  One  was  very  disagreeable,  — 
from  a  merchant  who  was  negotiating  for  the  purchase 
of  a  forest  on  his  wife's  estate.  It  was  necessary  to  sell 
this  forest,  but  now  nothing  could  be  done  about  it  until 
a  reconciliation  was  effected  with  his  wife.  Most  un- 
pleasant it  was  to  think  that  his  pecuniary  interests  in 
this  approaching  transaction  were  complicated  with  his 
reconciliation  to  his  wife.  And  the  thought  that  he 
might  be  influenced  by  this  interest,  that  his  desire  for 
a  reconciliation  with  his  wife  was  on  account  of  the  sale 
of  the  forest,  this  thought  mortified  him. 

Having  finished  his  letters  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  took 
up  the  papers  from  the  court-house,  rapidly  turned  over 
the  leaves  of  two  deeds,  made  several  notes  with  a  big 
pencil,  and  then  pushing  them  away,  took  his  coffee. 
While  he  was  drinking  it  he  opened  a  morning  journal 
still  damp,  and  began  to  read. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  subscribed  to  a  liberal  paper,  and 
read  it.  It  was  not  extreme  in  its  views,  but  advocated 
those  principles  which  the  majority  held.  And  though 
he  was  not  really  interested  in  science  or  art  or  politics, 
he  strongly  adhered  to  such  views  on  all  these  subjects 
as  the  majority,  including  his  paper,  advocated,  and  he 
changed  them  only  when  the  majority  changed  them ; 
or  more  correctly,  he  did  not  change  them,  but  they 
themselves  imperceptibly  changed  in  him. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  never  chose  principles  or  opin- 


ions,  but  these  principles  and  opinions  came  to  him,  just 
as  he  never  chose  the  shape  of  a  hat  or  coat,  but  took 
those  that  others  wore.  And,  living  as  he  did  in  fash- 
ionable society,  through  the  necessity  of  some  mental 
activity,  developing  generally  in  a  man's  best  years,  it 
was  as  indispensable  for  him  to  have  views  as  to  have 
a  hat.  If  there  was  any  reason  why  he  preferred 
liberal  views  rather  than  the  conservative  direction  which 
many  of  his  circle  followed,  it  was  not  because  he  found 
a  liberal  tendency  more  rational,  but  because  he  found  it 
better  suited  to  his  mode  of  life. 

The  liberal  party  declared  that  everything  in  Russia 
was  wretched;  and  the  fact  was  that  Stepan  Arkadye- 
vitch  had  a  good  many  debts  and  was  decidedly  short  of 
money.  The  liberal  party  said  that  marriage  was  a  de- 
funct institution  and  that  it  needed  to  be  remodeled,  and 
in  fact  domestic  life  afforded  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  very 
little  pleasure,  and  compelled  him  to  lie,  and  to  pretend 
what  was  contrary  to  his  nature.  The  liberal  party  said, 
or  rather  took  it  for  granted,  that  religion  is  only  a  curb 
on  the  barbarous  portion  of  the  community,  and  in  fact 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch  could  not  bear  the  shortest  prayer 
,  without  pain  in  his  knees,  and  he  could  not  comprehend 
the  necessity  of  all  these  awful  and  high-sounding  words 
about  the  other  world  when  it  is  so  very  pleasant  to  live 
in  this.  Moreover,  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  who  liked  a 
merry  jest,  was  sometimes  fond  of  scandalizing  a  quiet 
man  by  saying  that  any  one  who  was  proud  of  his  origin 
ought  not  to  stop  at  Rurik  and  deny  his  earliest  ancestor 
—  the  monkey. 

Thus  the  liberal  tendency  had  become  a  habit  with 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  and  he  liked  his  paper,  just  as  he 
liked  his  cigar  after  dinner,  because  of  the  slight  hazi- 
ness which  it  caused  in  his  brain.  He  was  now  reading 
the  leading  editorial,  which  proved  that  in  our  day  a  cry  is 
raised,  without  reason,  over  the  danger  that  radicalism 
may  swallow  up  all  the  conservative  elements,  and  that 
government  ought  to  take  measures  to  crush  the  hydra 
of  revolution,  and  that,  on  the  contrary,  "  according  to 
our  opinion,  the  danger  lies  not  in  this  imaginary  hydra 


of  revolution,  but  in  the  inertia  of  traditions  which  block 
progress,"  and  so  on.  He  read  through  another  article 
on  finance  which  made  mention  of  Bentham  and  Mill, 
and  dropped  some  sharp  hints  for  the  ministry.  With 
his  peculiar  quickness  of  comprehension  he  appreciated 
each  point,  —  from  whom  and  against  whom  and  on 
what  occasion  it  was  directed  ;  and  this  as  usual  afforded 
him  some  amusement.  But  his  satisfaction  was  poisoned 
by  the  remembrance  of  Matriona's  advice  and  of  the  un- 
fortunate state  of  his  domestic  affairs.  He  read  also 
that  Count  von  Beust  was  reported  to  have  gone  to 
Wiesbaden,  that  there  was  to  be  no  more  gray  hair  ;  he 
read  about  the  sale  of  a  light  carriage  and  a  young- 
woman's  advertisement  for  a  place.  But  these  items 
did  not  afford  him  quiet,  ironical  satisfaction  as  usual. 

Having  finished  his  paper,  his  second  cup  of  coffee, 
and  a  buttered  roll,  he  stood  up,  shook  the  crumbs  of  the 
roll  from  his  waistcoat,  and,  filling  his  broad  chest, 
smiled  joyfully,  not  because  there  was  anything  extraor- 
dinarily pleasant  in  his  mind,  but  the  joyful  smile  was 
caused  by  good  digestion. 

But  this  joyful  smile  immediately  brought  back  the 
memory  of  everything,  and  he  sank  into  thought. 

The  voices  of  two  children  —  Stepan  Arkadyevitch 
knew  they  were  Grisha,  his  youngest  boy,  and  Tania, 
his  eldest  daughter  —  were  now  heard  behind  the  door. 
They  were  dragging  something  and  upset  it. 

"  I  told  you  not  to  put  passengers  on  top,"  cried  the 
little  girl  in  English. —  "  Now  pick  them  up." 

"  Everything  is  in  confusion,"  said  Stepan  Arkadye- 
vitch to  himself.  "  Now  here  the  children  are,  running 
wild!"  And  going  to  the  door,  he  called  to  them.  They 
dropped  the  little  box  which  served  them  for  a  railway- 
train,  and  ran  to  their  father. 

The  little  girl,  her  father's  favorite,  ran  in  boldly, 
threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  laughingly  hugged 
him,  enjoying  as  usual  the  odor  which  exhaled  from  his 
whiskers.  Then  kissing  his  face,  reddened  by  his  bend- 
ing position  and  beaming  with  tenderness,  the  little  girl 
unclasped  her  hands  and  wanted  to  runaway  again,  but 
her  father  held  her  back. 


"  What  is  mamma  doing  ? "  he  asked,  caressing  his 
daughter's  smooth,  soft  neck.  "How  are  you?"  he 
added,  smiling  at  the  boy,  who  stood  saluting  him.  He 
acknowledged  he  had  less  love  for  the  little  boy,  yet  he 
tried  to  be  impartial.  But  the  boy  felt  the  difference, 
and  did  not  smile  back  in  reply  to  his  father's  chilling 

"  Mamma.?     She  's  up,"  answered  the  little  girl. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  sighed.  "  Of  course  she  has 
spent  another  sleepless  night,"  he  said  to  himself. 

"  Well,  is  she  cheerful  ?  " 

The  little  girl  knew  that  there  was  trouble  between 
her  father  and  her  mother,  and  that  her  mother  could 
not  be  cheerful,  and  that  her  father  ought  to  know  it, 
and  that  he  was  dissembling  when  he  questioned  her  so 
lightly.  And  she  blushed  for  her  father.  He  instantly 
perceived  it  and  also  turned  red. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  ;  "  she  told  me  that  we  were 
not  to  have  lessons  this  morning  but  were  to  go  with 
Miss  Hull  over  to  grandmother's." 

"  Well,  then,  run  along,  TancJmrotcJika  nioya.  —  Oh, 
yes,  wait,"  said  he,  still  detaining  her  and  smoothing  her 
delicate  little  hand. 

He  took  down  from  the  mantelpiece  a  box  of  candy 
which  he  had  placed  there  the  day  before,  and  gave 
her  two  pieces,  selecting  her  favorite  chocolate  and 

"  For  Grisha .-' "  she  asked,  pointing  to  the  chocolate. 

"Yes,  yes ;  "  and  still  smoothing  her  soft  shoulder  he 
kissed  her  on  the  neck  and  hair,  and  let  her  go. 

"The  carriage  is  at  the  door,"  said  Matve,  and  he 
added,  "A  woman  is  here  —  a  petitioner." 

"  Has  she  been  here  long  ? "  demanded  Stepan 

"  Half  an  hour." 

"  How  many  times  have  you  been  told  to  announce 
visitors  instantly .'' " 

"  I  had  to  get  your  coffee  ready,"  replied  Matve  in 
his  kind,  rough  voice,  at  which  it  was  impossible  to  take 


"Well,  show  her  in  quick!"  said  Oblonsky,  frowning 
with  annoyance. 

The  petitioner,  the  wife  of  Captain  Kalanin,  asked 
some  impossible  and  nonsensical  favor;  but  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch,  according  to  his  custom,  gave  her  a  com- 
fortable seat,  listened  to  her  story  without  interrupting, 
and  then  gave  her  careful  advice  to  whom  and  how  to 
make  her  application,  and  in  lively  and  eloquent  style 
wrote,  in  his  big,  scrawling,  but  handsome  and  legible 
hand,  a  note  to  the  person  who  might  aid  her.  Having 
dismissed  the  captain's  wife,  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  took 
his  hat  and  stood  for  a  moment  trying  to  remember 
whether  he  had  forgotten  anything.  He  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  nothing  except  what  he  wanted  to  forget 
—  his  wife. 

"Ah,  yes!" 

He  dropped  his  head,  and  a  gloomy  expression  came 
over  his  handsome  face. 

"To  go  or  not  to  go,"  he  said  to  himself;  and  an 
inner  voice  told  him  that  it  was  not  advisable  to  go,  that 
there  was  no  way  out  of  it  except  through  deception, 
that  to  straighten,  to  smooth  out,  their  relations  was 
impossible,  because  it  was  impossible  to  make  her 
attractive  and  lovable  again,  or  to  make  him  an  old  man 
insensible  to  passion.  Nothing  but  deception  and  lying 
could  come  of  it,  and  deception  and  lying  were  opposed 
to  his  nature. 

"  But  it  must  be  done  sometime ;  it  can't  remain 
so  always,"  he  said,  striving  to  gain  courage.  He 
straightened  himself,  took  out  a  cigarette,  lighted  it, 
puffed  at  it  two  or  three  times,  threw  it  into  a  mother- 
of-pearl-lined  ash-tray,  went  with  quick  steps  through 
the  sitting-room,  and  opened  the  door  into  his  wife's 



Darya  Aleksandrovna,  surrounded  by  all  sorts  of 
things  thrown  in  confusion  about  the  room,  was  stand- 
ing before  an  open  chiffonnier  from  which  she  was 
removing  the  contents.  She  had  on  a  dressing-sack,  and 
the  thin  braids  of  her  once  luxuriant  and  beautiful  hair 
were  pinned  back.  Her  face  was  thin  and  sunken,  and 
her  big  eyes,  protruding  from  her  pale,  worn  face,  had 
an  expression  of  terror.  When  she  heard  her  husband's 
steps  she  stopped  in  her  work  and,  gazing  at  the  door, 
vainly  tried  to  give  her  face  a  stern  and  forbidding 
expression.  She  was  conscious  that  she  feared  him  and 
that  she  dreaded  the  coming  interview.  She  was  in  the 
act  of  doing  what  she  had  attempted  to  do  a  dozen  times 
during  those  three  days :  gathering  up  her  own  effects 
and  those  of  her  children  to  carry  to  her  mother's 
house  ;  and  again  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  do  it,  yet 
now,  as  before,  she  said  to  herself  that  things  could  not 
remain  as  they  were,  that  she  must  take  some  measures  to 
punish  him,  to  put  him  to  shame,  to  have  some  revenge 
on  him,  if  only  for  a  small  part  of  the  anguish  that  he 
had  caused  her.  She  ctill  kept  saying  that  she  should 
leave  him,  but  she  felt  that  it  was  impossible ;  it  was 
impossible  because  she  could  not  cease  to  consider  him 
her  husband  and  to  love  him.  Moreover,  she  confessed 
that  if  here  in  her  own  home  she  had  barely  succeeded 
in  looking  after  her  five  children,  it  would  be  far  worse 
where  she  was  going  with  them.  In  the  course  of  these 
three  days  the  youngest  child  had  been  made  ill  by  eat- 
ing some  poor  soup,  and  the  rest  had  been  obliged 
to  go  almost  dinnerless  the  night  before.  She  felt  that 
it  was  impossible  to  leave,  yet  for  the  sake  of  deceiving 
herself  she  was  collecting  her  things  and  pretending 
that  she  was  going. 

When  she  saw  her  husband,  she  thrust  her  hands  into 
a  drawer  of  the  chiffonnier,  as  if  trying  to  find  some- 
thing, and  looked  at  him  only  when  he  came  close  up 
to  her.     But  her  face,  to  which  she  had  intended  to  give 


a  stern  and  resolute  expression,  showed  her  confusion 
and  anguish  of  mind. 

"  Dolly,"  said  he,  in  a  gentle,  subdued  voice.  He 
hung  his  head  and  tried  to  assume  a  humble  and  sub- 
missive mien,  but  nevertheless  he  was  radiant  with  fresh 
life  and  health.  She  gave  him  a  quick  glance  which 
took  in  his  whole  figure  from  head  to  foot,  radiant  with 
life  and  health. 

"  Yes,  he  is  happy  and  contented,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, ....  "  but  I  ? ....  And  this  good  nature  which  makes 
everybody  like  him  so  well  and  praise  him  is  revolting 
to  me  !     I  hate  this  good  nature  of  his." 

Her  mouth  grew  firm,  the  muscles  of  her  right  cheek 
contracted,  she  looked  pale  and  nervous. 

"What  do  you  •want.''"  she  demanded,  in  a  quick, 
unnatural  tone. 

"  Dolly,"  he  repeated,  with  a  quaver  in  his  voice, 
"Anna  is  coming  to-day." 

"  Well,  what  is  that  to  me }  I  cannot  receive  her," 
she  cried. 

"  Still,  it  must  be  done,  Dolly."  .... 

"Go  away!  go  away!  go  away!"  she  cried,  without 
looking  at  him,  and  as  if  her  words  were  torn  from  her 
by  physical  agony. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  might  be  calm  enough  as  his 
thoughts  turned  to  his  wife,  he  might  have  some  hope 
that  it  would  all  straighten  itself  out  according  to  Matve's 
prediction,  and  he  might  be  able  tranquilly  to  read  his 
morning  paper  and  drink  his  coffee ;  but  when  he  saw 
her  tortured,  suffering  face,  when  he  heard  that  resigned 
and  hopeless  tone  of  her  voice,  he  breathed  hard,  some- 
thing rose  in  his  throat,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"My  God!  What  have  I  done.!*  for  God's  sake!.... 

He  could  not  say  another  word  for  the  sobs  that 
choked  him. 

She  shut  the  drawer  violently,  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Dolly,  what  can  I  say  ? ....  Only  one  thing  :  forgive 
me.  Just  think !  Cannot  nine  years  of  my  life  pay  for 
a  single  moment,  a  moment ....  " 


She  let  her  eyes  fall,  and  listened  to  what  he  was 
going  to  say,  as  if  beseeching  him  in  some  way  to  per- 
suade her  of  his  innocence. 

"  A  single  moment  of  temptation,"  he  ended,  and  was 
going  to  continue ;  but  at  that  word,  Dolly's  lips  again 
closed  tight  as  if  from  physical  pain,  and  again  the  mus- 
cles of  her  right  cheek  contracted. 

"  Go  away,  go  away  from  here,"  she  cried  still  more 
impetuously,  "  and  don't  speak  to  me  of  your  tempta 
tions  and  your  wretched  conduct." 

She  attempted  to  leave  the  room,  but  she  almost  feii, 
and  was  obliged  to  lean  upon  a  chair  for  support. 
Oblonsky's  face  grew  melancholy,  his  lips  trembled, 
and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Dolly,"  said  he,  almost  sobbing,  "  for  God's  sake 
think  of  the  children.  They  are  not  to  blame ;  I  am 
the  one  to  blame.     Punish  me !     Tell  me  how  I  can 

atone  for  my  fault I  am  ready  to  do  anything.     I 

am  guilty !     No  words  can  tell  how  guilty  I  am.     But, 
Dolly,  forgive  me ! " 

She  sat  down.  He  heard  her  quick,  hard  breathing, 
and  his  soul  was  filled  with  pity  for  her.  She  tried 
several  times  to  speak,  but  could  not  utter  a  word.  He 

"  You  think  of  the  children,  because  you  like  to  play 
with  them ;  but  I  think  of  them,  too,  and  I  know  what 
they  have  lost,"  said  she,  repeating  one  of  the  phrases 
that  during  the  last  three  days  she  had  many  times 
repeated  to  herself. 

She  had  used  the  familiar  tin  (thou),  and  he  looked 
at  her  with  gratitude,  and  made  a  movement  as  if  to 
take  her  hand,  but  she  turned  from  him  with  abhor- 

"  I  have  consideration  for  my  children,  and  therefore 
I  would  do  all  in  the  world  to  save  them ;  but  I  do  not 
myself  know  how  I  can  best  save  them :  by  taking  them 
from  their  father,  or  by  leaving  them  with  a  father  who 
is  a  libertine,  —  yes,  a  libertine  ! ....  Now  tell  me  after 
this,  —  this  that  has  happened,  can  we  live  together } 
Is  it  possible.?     Tell  me,  is  it  possible?"  she  demanded, 


raising  her  voice.  "When  my  husband,  the  father  of 
my  children,  has  a  love-affair  with  their  governess  .... " 

" ....  But  what  is  to  be  done  about  it .''  what  is  to  be 
done  ? "  said  he,  interrupting  with  broken  voice,  not 
knowing  what  he  said,  and  letting  his  head  sink  lower 
and  lower. 

"You  are  revolting  to  me,  you  are  insulting,"  she 
cried,  with  increasing  anger.  "  Your  tears  are  water  ! 
You  never  loved  me ;  you  have  no  heart,  no  honor. 
You  are  abominable,  revolting,  and  henceforth  you  are 
a  stranger  to  me, — yes,  a  perfect  stranger,"  and  she 
repeated  with  spiteful  anger  this  word  "stranger"  which 
was  so  terrible  to  her  own  ears. 

He  looked  at  her,  and  the  anger  expressed  in  her  face 
alarmed  and  surprised  him.  He  had  no  realizing  sense 
that  his  pity  exasperated  his  wife.  She  saw  that  he  felt 
sympathy  for  her,  but  not  love.  "  No,  she  hates  me,  she 
will  not  forgive  me,"  he  said  to  himself. 

"  This  is  terrible,  terrible !  "  he  cried. 

At  this  moment  one  of  the  children  in  the  next  room, 
having  apparently  had  a  fall,  began  to  cry.  Darya 
Aleksandrovna  listened  and  her  face  suddenly  softened. 
She  seemed  to  collect  her  thoughts  for  a  few  seconds, 
as  if  she  did  not  know  where  she  was  and  what  was 
happening  to  her,  then,  quickly  rising,  she  hastened  to 
the  door. 

"At  any  rate  she  loves  my  child,"  thought  Oblonsky, 
who  had  noticed  the  change  in  her  face  as  she  heard 
the  little  one's  cry.  "  My  child  ;  how  then  can  she  hate 

"  Dolly !  just  one  word  more,"  he  said,  following  her. 

"  If  you  follow  me,  I  will  call  the  domestics,  the 
children  !  Let  them  all  know  that  you  are  infamous ! 
I  leave  this  very  day,  and  you  may  live  here  with  your 

And  she  went  out  and  slammed  the  door. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  sighed,  wiped  his  face,  and 
softly  left  the  room. 

"  Matve  says  this  can  be  settled  ;  but  how  ?  I  don't 
see   the  possibility.     Akh !    akh !    how    terrible !    and 


how  foolishly  she  shrieked,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he 
recalled  her  cry  and  the  words  "infamous"  and  "para- 


"  Perhaps  the  chambermaids  heard  her !  horribly 
foolish,  horribly !  " 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  stood  by  himself  a  few  seconds, 
rubbed  his  eyes,  sighed,  and  then,  throwing  out  his 
chest,  left  the  room. 

It  was  Friday,  and  in  the  dining-room  the  German 
clock-maker  was  winding  the  clock.  Stepan  Arka- 
dyevitch remembered  a  joke  that  he  had  made  about 
this  punctilious  German  clock-maker,  to  the  effect  that 
"  he  must  have  been  wound  up  himself  for  a  lifetime  for 
the  purpose  of  winding  clocks,"  and  he  smiled.  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch  loved  a  good  joke.  "Perhaps  it  will 
straighten  itself  out.  That 's  a  good  little  phrase ! 
straighten  itself  out,"  he  thought ;   "  I  must  tell  that." 

"Matve!"  he  shouted;  and  when  the  old  servant 
appeared,  he  said,  "  Have  Marya  put  the  best  room  in 
order  for  Anna  Arkadyevna." 

"Very  well." 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  took  his  fur  coat,  and  started 
down  the  steps. 

"  Shall  you  dine  at  home  ? "  asked  Matve,  as  he 
escorted  him  down. 

"  That  depends.  Here,  take  this  if  you  need  to  spend 
anything,"  said  he,  taking  out  a  bill  of  ten  rubles  from 
his  pocket-book.     "That  will  be  enough." 

"  Whether  it  is  enough  or  not,  it  will  have  to  do," 
said  Matve,  as  he  shut  the  carriage-door  and  went  up 
the  steps. 

Meantime,  Darya  Aleksandrovna,  having  pacified  the 
child,  and  knowing  by  the  sound  of  the  carriage  that  he 
was  gone,  came  back  to  her  room.  This  was  her  sole 
refuge  from  the  domestic  troubles  that  besieged  her  as 
soon  as  she  went  out.  Even  during  the  short  time  that 
she  had  been  in  the  nursery,  the  English  maid  and 
Matriona  Filimonovna  asked  her  all  sorts  of  questions 
demanding  immediate  attention,  questions  which  she 
alone  could  answer, — what  clothes  should  they  put  on 


the  children  for  their  walk  ?  should  they  give  them 
milk  ?  should  they  send  for  another  cook  ? 

"  Akh  !  leave  me  alone,  leave  me  alone  !  "  she  cried, 
and,  hastening  back  to  the  chamber,  she  sat  down  in 
the  place  where  she  had  been  talking  with  her  husband. 
Then,  clasping  her  thin  hands,  on  whose  fingers  the  rings 
would  scarcely  stay,  she  reviewed  the  whole  conversation. 

"He  has  gone!  But  has  he  broken  with  her?"  she 
asked  herself.  "  Does  he  still  continue  to  see  her } 
Why  did  n't  I  ask  him  }  No,  no,  we  cannot  live  together. 
Even  if  we  continue  to  live  in  the  same  house,  we  are 
only  strangers,  strangers  forever !  "  she  repeated,  with 
a  strong  emphasis  on  the  word  that  hurt  her  so  cruelly. 
"How  I  loved  him!  my  God,  how  I  loved  him!..,. 
How  I  loved  him !  and  even  now  do  I  not  love  him } 
Do  I  not  love  him  even  more  than  before .''  that  is  the 
most  terrible  thing,"  she  was  beginning  to  say,  but  she 
did  not  finish  out  her  thought,  because  Matriona  Fili- 
monovna  put  her  head  in  at  the  door.  "  Give  orders  to 
send  for  my  brother,"  said  she  ;  "  he  will  get  dinner.  If 
you  don't,  it  will  be  like  yesterday,  when  the  children 
did  not  have  anything  to  eat  for  six  hours." 

"  Very  good,  I  will  come  and  give  the  order.  Have 
you  sent  for  some  fresh  milk  .-*  " 

And  Darya  Aleksandrovna  entered  into  her  daily 
tasks,  and  in  them  forgot  her  sorrow  for  the  time  being. 


Stepan  Arkadyevitch  had  done  well  at  school,  by 
reason  of  his  excellent  natural  gifts,  but  he  was  lazy  and 
mischievous,  and  consequently  had  been  at  the  foot  of  his 
class  ;  but,  in  spite  of  his  irregular  habits,  his  low  rank  in 
the  Service,  and  his  youth,  he,  nevertheless,  held  an  im- 
portant salaried  position  as  nachalnik,  or  president  of 
one  of  the  courts  in  Moscow.  This  place  he  had  secured 
through  the  good  offices  of  his  sister  Anna's  husband, 
Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  Karenin,  who  occupied  one  of 
the  most  influential  positions  in  the  ministry  of  which  he 


was  a  member.  But  even  if  Karenin  had  not  been  able 
to  get  this  place  for  his  brother-in-law,  a  hundred  other 
people  —  brothers,  sisters,  cousins,  second  cousins,  uncles, 
aunts — would  have  got  it  for  Stiva  Oblonsky,  or  some 
place  as  good,  together  with  the  six  thousand  rubles' 
salary  which  he  needed  for  his  establishment,  his  affairs 
being  somewhat  out  of  order  in  spite  of  his  wife's  con- 
siderable fortune. 

Half  the  people  of  Moscow  and  St.  Petersburg  were 
relatives  or  friends  of  Stepan  Arkadyevitch ;  he  was 
born  into  the  society  of  the  rich  and  powerful  of  this 
world.  A  third  of  the  older  officials  attached  to  the 
court  and  in  government  employ  had  been  friends  of  his 
father,  and  had  known  him  from  the  time  when  he  wore 
petticoats ;  a  second  third  addressed  him  familiarly  in 
the  second  person  singular ;  the  others  were  "  hail  fel- 
lows well  met."  He  had,  therefore,  as  his  friends,  all 
those  whose  function  it  is  to  dispense  earthly  blessings 
in  the  shape  of  places,  leases,  concessions,  and  the  like, 
and  who  could  not  neglect  their  own.  And  so  Oblonsky 
had  no  special  difficulty  in  obtaining  an  excellent  place. 
All  he  had  to  do  was  not  to  shirk,  not  to  be  jealous,  not 
to  be  quarrelsome,  not  to  be  thin-skinned,  and  he  never 
gave  way  to  these  faults,  because  of  his  natural  good 
temper.  It  would  have  seemed  ridiculous  to  him  if  he 
had  been  told  that  he  could  not  have  any  salaried  place 
that  he  wanted,  because  it  did  not  seem  to  him  that  he 
demanded  anything  extraordinary.  He  asked  only  for 
what  his  companions  were  obtaining,  and  he  felt  that  he 
was  as  capable  as  any  of  them  of  performing  the  duties 
of  such  a  position. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  was  liked  by  every  one  for  his 
good  and  amiable  character  and  his  unimpeachable 
honesty.  There  was  moreover  something  in  his  brilliant 
and  attractive  personality,  in  his  bright,  sparkling  eyes, 
his  black  brows,  his  hair,  his  vivid  coloring,  which  exer- 
cised a  strong  physical  influence  as  of  friendliness  and 
gayety  on  those  who  came  in  touch  with  him. 

"  Aha,  Stiva  !  Oblonsky !  Here  he  is !  "  people 
would  generally  say,  with  a  smile  of  pleasure.     Even  if 


it  happened  that  the  results  of  meeting  him  were  not 
particularly  gratifying,  nevertheless  people  were  just  as 
glad  to  meet  him  the  second  day  and  the  third. 

After  filling  for  three  years  the  office  of  nachalnik  of 
one  of  the  chief  judiciary  positions  in  Moscow,  Stepan  Ar- 
kadyevitch  had  gained,  not  only  the  friendship,  but  also 
the  respect  of  his  colleagues,  both  those  above  and  those 
below  him  in  station,  as  well  as  of  all  who  had  had  dealings 
with  him.  The  principal  qualities  that  had  gained  him 
this  universal  esteem  were,  first,  his  extreme  indulgence 
for  people,  and  this  was  founded  on  his  knowledge  of  his 
own  weaknesses  ;  secondly,  his  absolute  liberality,  which 
was  not  the  liberalism  which  he  read  about  in  the  news- 
papers, but  that  which  was  in  his  blood,  and  caused  him 
to  be  agreeable  to  every  one,  in  whatever  station  in  life ; 
and  thirdly  and  principally,  his  perfect  indifference  to 
the  business  which  he  transacted,  so  that  he  never  lost 
his  temper,  and  therefore  never  made  mistakes. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  his  tribunal,  Stepan  Arkadye- 
vitch,  escorted  by  the  solemn  Swiss  who  bore  his  port- 
folio, went  to  his  little  private  office,  put  on  his  uniform, 
and  proceeded  to  the  court-room.  The  clerks  and  other 
employees  all  stood  up,  bowing  eagerly  and  respectfully. 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  as  usual,  hastened  to  his  place, 
shook  hands  with  his  colleagues,  and  took  his  seat.  He 
got  off  some  pleasantry  and  made  some  remark  suitable 
to  the  occasion,  and  then  opened  the  session.  No  one 
better  than  he  understood  how  far  to  go  within  the  limits 
of  freedom,  frankness,  and  that  official  dignity  which  is 
so  useful  in  the  expedition  of  official  business.  A 
clerk  came  with  papers,  and,  with  the  free  and  yet  re- 
spectful air  common  to  all  who  surrounded  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch,  spoke  in  the  familiarly  liberal  tone  which 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch  had  introduced  :  — 

"  We  have  at  last  succeeded  in  obtaining  reports  from  the 
Government  of  Penza.     Here  they  are,  if  you  care  to  ...." 

"  So  we  have  them  at  last,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch, 
touching  the  document  with  his  finger.  "  Now,  then, 
gentlemen  ...." 

And  the  proceedings  began. 


"  If  they  knew,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  bent  his  head 
with  an  air  of  importance  while  the  report  was  read, "  how 
much  their  president,  only  half  an  hour  since,  looked  like 
a  naughty  school-boy!"  and  a  gleam  of  amusement  came 
into  his  eyes  as  he  listened  to  the  report. 

The  session  generally  lasted  till  two  o'clock  without 
interruption,  and  was  followed  by  recess  and  luncheon. 
The  clock  had  not  yet  struck  two,  when  the  great  glass 
doors  of  the  court-room  were  suddenly  thrown  open, 
and  some  one  entered.  All  the  members,  glad  of  any 
diversion,  looked  round  from  where  they  sat  under  the 
Emperor's  portrait  and  behind  the  zertsdlo,  or  procla- 
mation-table ;  but  the  doorkeeper  instantly  ejected  the 
intruder,  and  shut  the  door  on  him. 

After  the  business  was  read  through,  Stepan  Arkadye- 
vitch  arose,  stretched  himself,  and  in  a  spirit  of  sacri- 
fice to  the  liberalism  of  the  time  took  out  his  cigarette, 
while  still  in  the  court-room,  and  then  passed  into  his 
private  office.  Two  of  his  colleagues,  the  aged  veteran 
Nikitin,  and  the  chamberlain  Grinevitch,  followed  him. 

"  There  '11  be  time  enough  to  finish  after  luncheon," 
said  Oblonsky. 

"How  we  are  rushing  through  with  it!"  replied 

"  This  Famin  must  be  a  precious  rascal,"  said  Grine- 
vitch, alluding  to  one  of  the  characters  in  the  affair 
which  they  had  beqn  investigating. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  knitted  his  brows  at  Grinevitch's 
words,  as  if  to  signify  that  it  was  not  the  right  thing  to 
form  snap  judgments,  and  he  made  no  reply. 

"  Who  was  it  came  into  the  court-room .?"  he  asked  of 
the  doorkeeper. 

''  Some  one  who  entered  without  permission,  your 
excellency,  while  my  back  was  turned.  He  asked  to 
see  you  :  I  said,  *  When  the  court  adjourns,  then .... '  " 

"  Where  is  he  .?  " 

"  Probably  in  the  vestibule ;  he  ,was  there  just  now. 
Ah !  there  he  is,"  said  the  doorkeeper,  pointing  to  a 
solidly  built,  broad-shouldered  man  with  curly  beard, 
who,  without  taking  off  his  sheepskin  cap,  was  lightly 


and  quickly  running  up  the  well-worn  steps  of  the  stone 
staircase.  A  lean  chinovnik,  on  his  way  down,  with  a 
portfolio  under  his  arm,  stopped  to  look,  with  some  indig- 
nation, at  the  newcomer's  feet,  and  turned  to  Oblonsky 
with  a  glance  of  inquiry.  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  stood 
at  the  top  of  the  staircase,  and  his  bright,  good-natured 
face,  set  off  by  the  embroidered  collar  of  his  uniform, 
was  still  more  radiant  when  he  recognized  the  visitor. 

"  Here  he  is  !  Levin,  at  last,"  he  cried,  with  a  friendly, 
ironical  smile,  as  he  looked  at  his  approaching  friend. 
"  What !  you  got  tired  of  waiting  for  me,  and  have 
come  to  find  me  in  this  den } "  he  went  on  to  say,  not 
satisfied  with  pressing  his  hand,  but  kissing  him  affec- 
tionately.    "  Have  you  been  in  town  long  ?  " 

"  I  just  got  here,  and  was  in  a  hurry  to  see  you,"  said 
Levin,  looking  about  him  timidly,  and  at  the  same  time 
with  a  fierce  and  anxious  expression. 

"Well,  come  into  my  office,"  said  Stepan  Arka- 
dyevitch, who  was  aware  of  his  visitor's  egotistic  sensi- 
tiveness, and,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  he  led  him  along 
as  if  he  were  conducting  him  through  manifold  dangers. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  addressed  almost  all  his  acquain- 
tances with  the  familiar  "thou," — old  men  of  three- 
score, young  men  of  twenty,  actors  and  ministers, 
merchants  and  generals,  so  that  there  were  very  many 
of  these  familiarly  addressed  acquaintances  from  both 
extremes  of  the  social  scale,  and  they  would  have  been 
astonished  to  know  that  through  Oblonsky  they  had 
something  in  common.  He  thus  addressed  all  with 
whom  he  had  drunk  champagne,  and  he  had  drunk 
champagne  with  every  one,  and  so  when  in  the  presence 
of  his  subordinates  he  met  any  of  his  shameful  intimates, 
as  he  jestingly  called  some  of  his  acquaintances,  his 
characteristic  tact  was  sufficient  to  diminish  the  dis- 
agreeable impressions  that  they  might  have. 

Levin  was  not  one  of  his  shameful  intimates,  but 
Oblonsky  instinctively  felt  that  Levin  might  think  he 
would  not  like  to  make  a  display  of  their  intimacy  be- 
fore his  subordinates,  and  so  he  hastened  to  take  him 
into  his  private  office. 


Levin  was  about  the  same  age  as  Oblonsky,  and  their 
intimacy  was  not  based  on  champagne  alone.  Levin 
was  a  friend  and  companion  from  early  boyhood.  In 
spite  of  the  difference  in  their  characters  and  their 
tastes,  they  were  fond  of  each  other  as  friends  are  who 
have  grown  up  together.  And  yet,  as  often  happens  among 
men  who  have  chosen  different  spheres  of  activity,  each, 
while  approving  the  work  of  the  other,  really  despised  it. 
Each  believed  his  own  mode  of  life  to  be  the  only  rational 
way  of  living,  while  that  led  by  his  friend  was  only  illusion. 

At  the  sight  of  Levin,  Oblonsky  could  not  repress  a 
slight  ironical  smile.  How  many  times  had  he  seen  him  in 
Moscow  just  in  from  the  country,  where  he  had  been  doing 
something,  though  Oblonsky  did  not  know  exactly  what 
and  scarcely  took  any  interest  in  it.  Levin  always  came 
to  Moscow  anxious,  hurried,  a  trifle  annoyed,  and  vexed 
because  he  was  annoyed,  and  generally  bringing  with 
him  entirely  new  and  unexpected  views  of  things. 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch  laughed  at  this  and  yet  liked  it. 

In  somewhat  the  same  way  Levin  despised  the  city 
mode  of  his  friend's  life,  and  his  official  employment, 
which  he  considered  trifling,  and  made  sport  of  it.  But 
the  difference  between  them  lay  in  this  :  that  Oblonsky, 
doing  what  every  one  else  was  doing,  laughed  self-con- 
fidently  and  good-naturedly,  while  Levin,  because  he  was 
not  assured  in  his  own  mind,  sometimes  lost  his  temper. 

"  We  have  been  expecting  you  for  some  time,"  said 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  as  he  entered  his  office,  and  let 
go  his  friend's  hand  to  show  that  the  danger  was  past. 
"  I  am  very,  very  glad  to  see  you,"  he  continued.  "  How 
goes  it  .-*  how  are  you .''     Wheo  did  you  come  ?  " 

Levin  was  silent,  and  looked  at  the  unknown  faces  of 
Oblonsky's  two  colleagues,  and  especially  at  the  elegant 
Grinevitch's  hand,  with  its  long,  white  fingers  and  their 
long,  yellow,  and  pointed  nails,  and  his  cuffs,  with  their 
huge,  gleaming  cuff-buttons.  It  was  evident  that  his 
hands  absorbed  all  of  his  attention  and  allowed  him  to 
think  of  nothing  else.  Oblonsky  instantly  noticed  this, 
and  smiled. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  he,  "  allow  me  to  make  you  acquainted 


with  my  colleagues,  Filipp  Ivanuitch  Nikitin,  Mikhail 
Stanislavitch  Grinevitch ; "  then  turning  to  Levin,  "A 
landed  proprietor,  a  rising  man,  a  member  of  the 
zemstsvo,  and  a  gymnast  who  can  lift  two  hundred 
pounds  with  one  hand,  a  raiser  of  cattle,  and  huntsman, 
and  my  friend,  Konstantin  Dmitrievitch  Levin,  the 
brother  of  SergyeT  Ivanuitch  Koznuishef." 

"  Very  happy,"  said  the  little  old  man.  *'  I  have  the 
honor  of  knowing  your  brother,  Sergyei'  Ivanuitch," 
said  Grinevitch,  extending  his  delicate  hand  with  its  long 

Levin  frowned ;  he  coldly  shook  hands,  and  turned 
to  Oblonsky.  Although  he  had  much  respect  for  his 
half-brother,  a  writer  universally  known  in  Russia,  it 
was  none  the  less  unpleasant  for  him  to  be  addressed, 
not  as  Konstantin  Levin,  but  as  the  brother  of  the  famous 

"  No,  I  am  no  longer  a  worker  in  the  zemstsvo.  I 
have  quarreled  with  everybody,  and  I  don't  go  to  the 
assemblies,"  said  he  to  Oblonsky. 

"  This  is  a  sudden  change,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch, 
with  a  smile.     "  But  how  .-'  why  .-'  " 

"  It  is  a  long  story,  and  I  will  tell  it  some  other  time," 
replied  Levin  ;  but  he  nevertheless  went  on  to  say,  "  To 
make  a  long  story  short,  I  was  convinced  that  no  action 
amounts  to  anything,  or  can  amount  to  anything,  in 
our  provincial  assembles."  He  spoke  as  if  some  one  had 
insulted  him.  "  On  the  one  hand,  they  try  to  play  Parlia- 
ment, and  I  am  not  young  enough  and  not  old  enough 
to  amuse  myself  with  toys ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,"  — 
he  hesitated,  —  "  this  serves  the  district  ring  to  make  a 
little  money.  There  used  to  be  guardianships,  judg- 
ments ;  but  now  we  have  the  zemstsvo,  not  in  the  way 
of  bribes,  but  in  the  way  of  unearned  salaries." 

He  spoke  hotly,  as  if  some  one  present  had  attacked 
his  views. 

"  Aha !  here  you  are,  I  see,  in  a  new  phase,  on  the 
conservative  side,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch.  "  Well, 
we  '11  speak  about  this  by  and  by." 

"Yes,  by  and  by.     But  I  want  to  see  you  particu- 


larly,"  said  Levin,  looking  with  disgust  at  Grinevitch's 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  smiled  imperceptibly.  "  Did  n't 
you  say  that  you  would  never  again  put  on  European 
clothes  ? "  he  asked,  examining  his  friend's  new  suit, 
evidently  made  by  a  French  tailor.  "  Indeed,  I  see ; 
'tis  a  new  phase." 

Levin  suddenly  grew  red,  not  as  grown  men  grow 
red,  without  perceiving  it,  but  as  boys  blush,  conscious 
that  they  are  ridiculous  by  reason  of  their  bashfulness, 
and  therefore  ashamed  and  made  to  turn  still  redder  till 
the  tears  almost  come.  It  gave  his  intelligent,  manly 
face  such  a  strange  appearance  that  Oblonsky  turned 
away  and  refrained  from  looking  at  him. 

"But  where  can  we  meet.''  You  see  it  is  very, 
very  necessary  for  me  to  have  a  talk  with  you,"  said 

Oblonsky  seemed  to  reflect. 

"  How  is  this  .''  We  will  go  and  have  luncheon  at 
Gurin's,  and  we  can  talk  there.  At  three  o'clock  I 
shall  be  free." 

*'  No,"  answered  Levin  after  a  moment's  thought; 
**  I  've  got  to  take  a  drive." 

"Well,  then,  let  us  dine  together." 

"  Dine  ?  But  I  have  nothing  very  particular  to  say, 
only  two  words,  to  ask  a  question ;  afterward  we  can 

"In  that  case,  speak  your  two  words  now;  we  will 
chat  while  we  are  at  dinner." 

"  These  two  words  are  ....  however,  it 's  nothing  very 

His  face  suddenly  assumed  a  hard  expression,  due 
to  his  efforts  in  conquering  his  timidity.  "  What  are 
the  Shcherbatskys  doing .''  —  just  as  they  used  to  .-*" 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  who  had  long  known  that 
Levin  was  in  love  with  his  sister-in-law  Kitty,  almost 
perceptibly  smiled,  and  his  eyes  flashed  gayly.  "  You 
said  '  two  words ' ;  but  I  cannot  answer  in  two  words, 
because  ....  excuse  me  a  moment." 

The   secretary   came   in   at   this    juncture  with   his 


familiar  but  respectful  bearing,  and  with  that  modest 
assumption  characteristic  of  all  secretaries  that  he  knew 
more  about  business  than  his  superior.  He  brought 
some  papers  to  Oblonsky  ;  and,  under  the  form  of  a 
question,  he  attempted  to  explain  some  difficulty.  With- 
out waiting  to  hear  the  end  of  the  explanation,  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  the  secre- 
tary's arm. 

"  No,  do  as  I  asked  you  to,"  said  he,  tempering  his 
remark  with  a  smile ;  and,  having  briefly  given  his  own 
explanation  of  the  matter,  he  pushed  away  the  papers, 
and  said,  "  Do  it  so,  I  beg  of  you,  Zakhar  Nikititch." 

The  secretary  went  off  confused.  Levin  during  this 
scene  with  the  secretary  had  entirely  recovered  from 
his  embarrassment,  and  was  standing  with  both  arms 
resting  on  a  chair ;  on  his  face  was  an  ironical  expres- 

"  I  don't  understand,  I  don't  understand,"  said  he. 

"What  don't  you  understand.''"  asked  Oblonsky, 
smiling,  and  taking  out  a  cigarette.  He  was  expecting 
some  sort  of  strange  outbreak  from  Levin. 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  are  up  to,"  said  Levin, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  How  can  you  do  this  sort 
of  thing  seriously  ?  " 

"Why  not.?" 

"  Why,  because  it  is  doing  nothing." 

"  You  think  so .''     We  are  overwhelmed  with  work." 

"  On  paper !  Well,  yes,  you  have  a  special  gift  for 
such  things,"  added  Levin. 

"You  mean  that  I ....  there  is  something  that  I  lack.-*" 

"  Perhaps  so,  yes.  However,  I  cannot  help  admiring 
your  high  and  mighty  ways,  and  rejoicing  that  I  have 
for  a  friend  a  man  of  such  importance.  But,  you 
did  not  answer  my  question,"  he  added,  making  a  des- 
perate effort  to  look  Oblonsky  full  in  the  face. 

"  Now  that 's  very  good,  very  good  !  Go  ahead,  and 
you  will  succeed.  'T  is  well  that  you  have  eight  thou- 
sand acres  of  land  in  the  district  of  Karazinsk,  such 
muscles,  and  the  complexion  of  a  little  girl  of  twelve; 
but  you  will  catch  up  with  us  all  the  same Yes,  as  to 


what  you  asked  me.  There  is  no  change,  but  I  am 
sorry  that  it  has  been  so  long  since  you  were  in  town." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Levin  in  alarm. 

"  Well,  it 's  nothing,"  replied  Oblonsky;  "we  will  talk 
things  over.     What  has  brought  you  now  especially.-'" 

"  Akh !  we  will  speak  also  of  that  by  and  by,"  said 
Levin,  again  reddening  to  his  very  ears. 

"Very  good.  I  understand  you,"  said  Stepan  Arka- 
dyevitch.  "You  see,  I  should  have  taken  you  home 
with  me  to  dinner,  but  my  wife  is  not  well  to-day.  If 
you  want  to  see  tliem,  you  will  find  them  at  the  Zoologi- 
cal Gardens  from  four  to  five.  Kitty  is  skating.  You 
go  there;  I  will  join  you  later,  and  we  will  get  dinner 
together  somewhere." 

"  Excellent.     Da  svidanya !  " 

"  Look  here  —  you  see  I  know  you  —  you  will  forget 
all  about  it,  or  will  suddenly  be  starting  back  to  your 
home  in  the  country,"  cried  Stepan  Arkady evitch,  with 
a  laugh. 

"  No,  truly  I  won't." 

Levin  left  the  room,  and  only  when  he  had  passed 
the  door  realized  that  he  had  forgotten  to  salute  Oblon- 
sky's  colleagues. 

"  That  must  be  a  gentleman  of  great  energy/'  said 
Grinevitch,  after  Levin  had  taken  his  departure. 

"Yes,  batyushka,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  throw- 
ing his  head  back.  "  He  is  a  likely  fellow.  Eight 
thousand  acres  in  the  Karazinsky  district !  He  has 
a  future  before  him,  and  how  vigorous  he  is!  He  is 
not  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"  What  have  you  to  complain  about,  Stepan  Arkadye- 
vitch .-' "  ^ 

"  Well,  things  are  bad,  bad,"  replied  Stepan  Arkadye- 
vitch, sighing  heavily. 



When  Oblonsky  asked  Levin  for  what  special  rea- 
son he  had  come,  Levin  grew  red  in  the  face,  and  he 
was  angry  with  himself  because  he  grew  red ;  but  how 
could  he  have  replied,  **  I  have  come  to  ask  the  hand  of 
your  sister-in-law  "  ?  Yet  he  had  come  for  that  single 

The  Levin  and  the  Shcherbatsky  families,  belonging 
to  the  old  nobility  of  Moscow,  had  always  been  on  inti- 
mate and  friendly  terms.  During  Levin's  student  life 
the  bond  had  grown  stronger.  He  and  the  young 
Prince  Shcherbatsky,  the  brother  of  Dolly  and  Kitty, 
had  taken  their  preparatory  studies,  and  gone  through 
the  university  together.  At  that  time  Levin  was  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  the  Shcherbatskys,  and  was  in  love  with 
the  house.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  he  was  in  love  with 
the  house  itself,  with  the  family,  especially  with  the  femi- 
nine portion.  Konstantin  Levin  could  not  remember  his 
mother,  and  his  only  sister  was  much  older  than  he 
was,  so  that  for  the  first  time  he  found  in  the  house 
of  the  Shcherbatskys  that  charming  cultivated  life  so 
peculiar  to  the  old  nobility,  and  of  which  the  death  of 
his  parents  had  deprived  him.  All  the  members  of 
this  family,  but  especially  the  ladies,  seemed  to  him 
to  be  surrounded  with  a  mysterious  and  poetic  halo. 

Not  only  did  he  fail  to  discover  any  faults  in  them,  but 
underneath  this  poetic  and  mysterious  halo  surrovmding 
them,  he  saw  the  loftiest  sentiments  and  the  most  ideal 
perfections.  Why  these  three  young  ladies  were  obliged 
to  speak  French  and  English  every  day ;  why  they  had 
to  take  turns  in  playing  for  hours  at  a  time  on  the  piano, 
the  sounds  of  which  floated  up  to  their  brother's  room, 
where  the  young  students  were  at  work  ;  why  professors 
of  French  literature,  of  music,  of  drawing,  of  dancing, 
came  to  give  them  lessons ;  why  the  three  young 
ladies,  at  a  certain  hour,  accompanied  by  Mile.  Linon, 
drove  out  in  their  carriage  to  the  TverskoT  Boulevard, 
wearing    satin    shubkas,    Dolly's    very   long,    Natalie's 


of  half  length,  and  Kitty's  very  short,  showing  her 
shapely  ankles  and  close-fitting  red  stockings ;  and  why 
when  they  went  to  the  Tverskoi"  Boulevard  they  had  to 
be  accompanied  by  a  lackey  with  a  gilt  cockade  on  his 
hat, —  all  these  things  and  many  others  v/ere  absolutely 
incomprehensible  to  him.  But  he  felt  that  all  that 
took  place  in  this  mysterious  sphere  was  beautiful,  and 
he  was  in  love  especially  with  this  mystery  of  accom- 

While  he  was  a  student  he  almost  fell  in  love  with 
Dolly,  the  eldest ;  but  she  soon  married  Oblonsky  ;  then 
he  began  to  be  in  love  with  the  second.  It  was  as  if  he 
felt  it  to  be  a  necessity  to  love  one  of  the  three,  only  he 
could  not  decide  which  one  he  liked  the  best.  But  Na- 
talie entered  society,  and  soon  married  the  diplomat, 
Lvof.  Kitty  was  only  a  child  when  Levin  left  the  uni- 
versity. Young  Shcherbatsky  joined  the  fleet,  and  was 
drowned  in  the  Baltic  ;  and  Levin's  relations  with  the 
family  became  more  distant,  in  spite  of  his  friendship 
with  Oblonsky.  At  the  beginning  of  the  winter,  how- 
ever, after  a  year's  absence  in  the  country,  he  had  met 
the  Shcherbatskys  again,  and  learned  for  the  first  time 
which  of  the  three  he  was  destined  really  to  love. 

It  would  seem  as  if  there  could  be  nothing  simpler  for 
a  young  man  of  thirty-two,  of  good  family,  possessed  of 
a  fair  fortune,  and  likely  to  be  regarded  as  an  eligible 
suitor,  than  to  ask  the  young  Princess  Shcherbatskaya 
in  marriage,  and  probably  Levin  would  have  been  ac- 
cepted as  an  excellent  match.  But  he  was  in  love,  and 
consequently  it  seemed  to  him  Kitty  was  a  creature  so 
accomplished,  her  superiority  was  so  above  everything 
earthly,  and  he  himself  was  such  an  earthly  insignificant 
being,  that  he  was  unwilling  to  admit,  even  in  thought, 
that  others  or  Kitty  herself  would  regard  him  as  worthy 
of  her. 

Having  spent  two  months  in  Moscow,  as  in  a  dream, 
meeting  Kitty  almost  every  day  in  society,  which  he  al- 
lowed himself  to  frequent  on  account  of  her,  he  suddenly 
concluded  that  this  alliance  was  impossible,  and  took  his 
departure  for  the  country.     Levin's  conclusion  that  it 


was  impossible  was  reached  by  reasoning  that  in  her 
parents'  eyes  he  was  not  a  suitor  sufficiently  advanta- 
geous or  suitable  for  the  beautiful  Kitty,  and  that  Kitty 
herself  could  not  love  him.  In  her  parents'  eyes,  he 
was  engaged  in  no  definite  line  of  activity,  and  at  his 
age  had  no  position  in  the  world,  while  his  comrades 
were  colonels  or  staff-officers,  distinguished  professors, 
bank  directors,  railway  officials,  presidents  of  tribunals 
like  Oblonsky  ;  but  he  —  and  he  knew  very  well  how  he 
was  regarded  by  his  friends  —  was  only  a  pomyeshchik, 
or  country  proprietor,  busy  with  breeding  of  cows, 
hunting  woodcock,  and  building  farmhouses :  in  other 
words,  he  was  an  incapable  youth  who  had  accomplished 
nothing,  and  who,  in  the  eyes  of  society,  was  doing  just 
what  men  do  who  have  made  a  failure. 

Surely,  the  mysterious,  charming  Kitty  could  not  love 
a  man  so  ill-favored,  dull,  and  good-for-nothing  as  he 
felt  that  he  was.  Moreover,  his  former  relations  with 
her,  consequent  upon  his  friendship  with  her  brother, 
were  those  of  a  grown  man  with  a  child,  and  seemed  to 
him  only  an  additional  obstacle  to  love. 

It  was  possible,  he  thought,  for  a  girl  to  have  a  friend- 
ship for  a  good,  homely  man,  such  as  he  considered 
himself  to  be  ;  but  if  he  is  to  be  loved  with  a  love  such 
as  he  felt  for  Kitty,  he  must  be  good-looking,  and  above 
all,  a  man  of  distinction. 

He  had  heard  that  women  often  fall  in  love  with  ill- 
favored,  stupid  men,  but  he  did  not  believe  that  such 
would  be  his  own  experience,  just  as  he  felt  that  it  would 
be  impossible  for  him  to  love  a  woman  who  was  not 
beautiful,  brilliant,  and  poetic. 

But,  having  spent  two  months  in  the  solitude  of  the 
country,  he  became  convinced  that  this  was  not  one  of 
his  youthful  passions,  that  the  state  of  his  feelings  al- 
lowed him  not  a  moment  of  rest,  and  that  he  could  not 
live  without  settling  this  mighty  question — whether  she 
would,  or  would  not,  be  his  wife ;  that  his  despair  arose 
wholly  from  his  imagination,  and  that  he  had  no  absolute 
certainty  that  she  would  refuse  him. 

He  had  now  returned  to  Moscow  with  the  firm  inten- 


tion  of  offering  himself  and  of  marrying  her  if  she  would 
accept  him.  If  not ....  he  could  not  think  what  would 
become  of  him. 


Coming  to  Moscow  by  the  morning  train,  Levin  had 
stopped  at  the  house  of  his  half-brother,  Koznuishef. 
After  making  his  toilet,  he  went  to  the  library  with  the 
intention  of  telling  him  why  he  had  come,  and  asking 
his  advice ;  but  his  brother  was  not  alone.  He  was 
talking  with  a  famous  professor  of  philosophy  who  had 
come  up  from  Kharkof  expressly  to  settle  a  vexed 
question  which  had  arisen  between  them  on  some  very 
important  philosophical  subject.  The  professor  was 
waging  a  bitter  war  on  materialists,  and  Sergei"  Koznui- 
shef followed  his  argument  with  interest ;  and,  having 
read  the  professor's  latest  article,  he  had  written  him  a 
letter  expressing  some  objections.  He  blamed  the  pro- 
fessor for  having  made  too  large  concessions  to  the 
materialists,  and  the  professor  had  come  on  purpose  to 
explain  what  he  meant.  The  conversation  turned  on 
the  question  then  fashionable :  Is  there  a  dividing  line 
between  the  psychical  and  the  physiological  phenomena 
of  man's  action  ?  and  where  is  it  to  be  found .'' 

Sergei  Ivanovitch  welcomed  his  brother  with  the 
same  coldly  benevolent  smile  which  he  bestowed  on 
all,  and,  after  introducing  him  to  the  professor,  con- 
tinued the  discussion. 

The  professor,  a  small  man  with  spectacles,  and 
narrow  forehead,  stopped  long  enough  to  return  Levin's 
bow,  and  then  continued  without  noticing  him  further. 
Levin  sat  down  to  wait  till  the  professor  should  go,  but 
soon  began  to  feel  interested  in  the  discussion. 

He  had  read  in  the  reviews  articles  on  this  subject,  but 
he  had  read  them  with  only  that  general  interest  which 
a  man  who  has  studied  the  natural  sciences  at  the  uni- 
versity is  likely  to  take  in  their  development ;  but  he 
had  never  appreciated  the  connection  that  exists  between 
these  learned  questions  of  the  origin  of  man,  of  reflex 


action,  of  biology,  of  sociology,  and  those  touching  the 
significance  of  life  and  of  death  for  himself,  which  had 
of  late  been  more  and  more  engaging  his  attention. 

As  he  listened  to  the  discussion  between  his  brother 
and  the  professor,  he  noticed  that  they  agreed  to  a  cer- 
tain kinship  between  scientific  and  psychological  ques- 
tions, that  several  times  they  almost  took  up  this  subject ; 
but  each  time  that  they  came  near  what  seemed  to  him 
the  most  important  question  of  all,  they  instantly  took 
pains  to  avoid  it,  and  sought  refuge  in  the  domain  of 
subtile  distinctions,  explanations,  citations,  references  to 
authorities,  and  he  found  it  hard  to  understand  what 
they  were  talking  about. 

"  I  cannot  accept  the  theory  of  Keis,"  said  Sergef 
Ivanovitch  in  his  characteristically  elegant  and  correct 
diction  and  expression,  "  and  I  cannot  at  all  admit  that 
my  whole  conception  of  the  exterior  world  is  derived 
from  my  sensations.  The  most  fundamental  concept  of 
being  does  not  arise  from  the  senses,  nor  is  there  any 
special  organ  by  which  this  conception  is  produced." 

"  Yes;  but  Wurst  and  Knaust  and  Pripasof  will  reply 
that  your  consciousness  of  existence  is  derived  from  an 
accumulation  of  all  sensations,  that  it  is  only  the  result 
of  sensations.  Wurst  himself  says  explicitly  that  where 
sensation  does  not  exist,  there  is  no  consciousness  of 

"  I  will  say,  on  the  other  hand  ....  "  began  Sergei  Ivan- 

But  here  Levin  noticed  that,  just  as  they  were  about 
to  touch  the  root  of  the  whole  matter,  they  again  steered 
clear  of  it,  and  he  determined  to  put  the  following  ques- 
tion to  the  professor. 

"  Suppose  my  sensations  ceased,  if  my  body  were 
dead,  would  further  existence  be  possible  .''  " 

The  professor,  with  some  vexation,  and,  as  it  were, 
intellectual  anger  at  this  interruption,  looked  at  the 
strange  questioner  as  if  he  took  him  for  a  clown 
rather  than  a  philosopher,  and  turned  his  eyes  to 
Sergei"  Ivanovitch  as  if  to  ask,   "What  does  this  man 

mean  i 


But  Sergeif  Ivanovitch,  who  was  not  nearly  so  one- 
sided and  zealous  a  partisan  as  the  professor,  and  who 
had  sufficient  health  of  mind  both  to  answer  the  pro- 
fessor and  to  see  the  simple  and  natural  point  of  view 
from  which  the  question  was  asked,  smiled  and  said :  — 

"  We  have  not  yet  gained  the  right  to  answer  that 

"Our  capacities  are  not  sufficient,"  continued  the  pro- 
fessor, taking  up  the  thread  of  his  argument.  "  No,  I 
insist  upon  this,  that  if,  as  Pripasof  says  plainly,  sensa- 
tions are  based  upon  impressions,  we  cannot  too  closely 
distinguish  between  the  two  notions." 

Levin  did  not  listen  any  longer,  and  waited  until  the 
professor  took  his  departure. 


When  the  professor  was  gone,  Sergeif  Ivanovitch 
turned  to  his  brother. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.  Shall  you  stay  long } 
How  are  things  on  the  estate .-' " 

Levin  knew  that  his  elder  brother  took  little  interest 
in  the  affairs  of  the  estate,  and  only  asked  out  of  cour- 
tesy ;  and  so  in  reply  he  merely  spoke  of  the  sale  of 
wheat,  and  the  money  he  had  received. 

It  had  been  his  intention  to  speak  with  his  brother 
about  his  marriage  project,  and  to  ask  his  advice ;  but, 
after  the  conversation  with  the  professor,  and  in  conse- 
quence of  the  involuntarily  patronizing  tone  in  which  his 
brother  had  asked  about  their  affairs,  —  for  their  real  estate 
had  never  been  divided  and  Levin  managed  it  as  a  whole, 
—  he  felt  that  he  could  not  begin  to  talk  about  his  proj- 
ect of  marriage.  He  had  an  instinctive  feeling  that  his 
brother  would  not  look  upon  it  as  he  should  wish  him  to. 

"  How  is  it  with  the  zemstvo .'' "  asked  Sergei  Ivan- 
ovitch, who  took  a  lively  interest  in  these  provincial 
assemblies,  to  which  he  attributed  great  importance. 

"  Fact  is,  I  don't  know....  " 

"  What !  aren't  you  a  member  of  the  assembly  ? " 


"No,  I  am  no  longer  a  member:  I  have  not  been 
going  and  don't  intend  to  go  any  more,"  said  Levin. 

"It's  too  bad,"  murmured  Sergef  Ivanovitch,  frown- 

Levin,  in  justification,  described  what  had  taken  place 
at  the  meetings  of  his  district  assembly. 

"  But  it  is  forever  thus,"  exclaimed  Sergef  Ivanovitch, 
interrupting.  "  We  Russians  are  always  like  this.  Pos- 
sibly it  is  one  of  our  good  traits  that  we  are  willing  to 
see  our  faults,  but  we  exaggerate  them  ;  we  take  delight 
in  irony,  which  comes  natural  to  our  language.  If  such 
rights  as  we  have,  if  our  provincial  institutions,  were 
given  to  any  other  people  in  Europe,  —  Germans  or 
English,  —  I  tell  you,  they  would  derive  liberty  from 
them;    but  we  only  turn  them  into  sport." 

"But  what  is  to  be  done.-'"  asked  Levin,  penitently. 
"  It  was  my  last  attempt.  I  tried  with  all  my  heart ;  I 
cannot  do  it.     I  am  helpless." 

"Not  helpless!"  said  SergeT  Ivanovitch;  "you  did 
not  look  at  the  matter  in  the  right  light." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  replied  Levin,  in  a  melancholy  tone. 

"  Do  you  know,  brother  Nikolai  has  been  in  town 
again .'' " 

Nikolai  was  Konstantin  Levin's  own  brother,  and 
Sergef  Ivanovitch's  half-brother,  standing  between  them 
in  age.  He  was  a  ruined  man,  who  had  wasted  the 
larger  part  of  his  fortune,  had  mingled  with  the  strangest 
and  most  disgraceful  society,  and  had  quarreled  with 
his  brothers. 

"What  did  you  say .'' "  cried  Levin,  startled.  "How 
did  you  know.? " 

"  Prokofi  saw  him  in  the  street." 

"  Here  in  Moscow  .<*  Where  is  he  ?  "  and  Levin  stood 
up,  as  if  with  the  intention  of  instantly  going  to  find 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  told  you  this,"  said  Sergei  Ivan- 
ovitch, shaking  his  head  when  he  saw  his  younger 
brother's  emotion.  "  I  sent  out  to  find  where  he  was 
staying ;  and  I  sent  him  his  letter  of  credit  on  Trubin, 
the  amount  of  which  I  paid.     This  is  what  he  wrote  me 


in  reply,"  and  Sergei  Ivanovitch  handed  his  brother  a 
note  which  he  took  from  a  letter-press. 

Levin  read  the  letter,  which  was  written  in  the 
strange  hand  which  he  knew  so  well :  — 

I  humbly  beg  to  be  left  in  peace.  It  is  all  that  I  ask  from 
my  dear  brothers.  Nikolai  Levin. 

Konstantin,  without  lifting  his  head,  stood  motionless 
before  his  brother  with  the  letter  in  his  hand. 

The  desire  arose  in  his  heart  now  to  forget  his  un- 
fortunate brother,  and  the  consciousness  that  it  would 
be  wrong. 

"  He  evidently  wants  to  insult  me,"  continued  Serge'f 
Ivanovitch ;  "  but  that  is  impossible.  I  wish  with  all 
my  soul  that  I  might  help  him,  and  yet  I  know  that 
I  shall  not  succeed." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  Levin.  "  I  understand,  and  I 
appreciate  your  treatment  of  him  ;  but  I  am  going  to 

"  Go,  by  all  means,  if  it  will  give  you  any  pleasure," 
said  Sergef  Ivanovitch ;  "  but  I  would  not  advise  it. 
Not  on  my  account,  because  I  fear  that  he  might 
make  a  quarrel  between  us,  but,  on  your  own  account, 
I  advise  you  not  to  go.  He  can't  be  helped.  How- 
ever, do  as  you  think  best." 

"  Perhaps  he  can't  be  helped,  but  I    feel  especially 

at   this  moment  ....  this  is   quite  another  reason I 

feel  that  I  could  not  be  contented...." 

"Well,  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  SergeY  Ivano- 
vitch; "but  one  thing  I  do  understand,"  he  added: 
"this  is  a  lesson  in  humility.  Since  brother  Nikolai" 
has  become  the  man  he  is,  I  look  with  greater  indul- 
gence on  what  people  call  'abjectness.' ....  Do  you 
know  what  he  has  done .-' "  .... 

"  Akh  !  it  is  terrible,  terrible,"  replied  Levin. 

Having  obtained  from  his  brother's  servant  NikolaY's 
address.  Levin  set  out  to  find  him,  but  on  second  thought 
changed  his  mind,  and  postponed  his  visit  till  evening. 
Before  all,  he  must  decide  the  question  that  had  brought 


him  to  Moscow,  in  order  that  his  mind  might  be  free. 
He  had  therefore  gone  directly  to  Oblonsky;  and, 
having  learned  where  he  could  find  the  Shcherbatskys, 
he  went  where  he  was  told  that  he  would  meet  Kitty. 


About  four  o'clock  Levin  dismissed  his  izvoshchik 
at  the  entrance  of  the  Zoological  Garden,  and  with 
beating  heart  followed  the  path  that  led  to  the  ice- 
mountains  and  the  skating-pond,  for  he  knew  that  he 
should  find  Kitty  there,  having  seen  the  Shcherbatskys' 
carriage  at  the  gate. 

It  was  a  clear  frosty  day.  At  the  entrance  of  the 
garden  were  drawn  up  rows  of  carriages  and  sleighs ; 
hired  drivers  and  policemen  stood  on  the  watch.  Hosts 
of  fashionable  people,  with  their  hats  gayly  glancing 
in  the  bright  sunlight,  were  gathered  around  the  doors 
and  on  the  paths  cleared  of  snow,  among  the  pretty 
Russian  cottages  with  their  carved  balconies.  The  an- 
cient birch  trees  of  the  garden,  their  thick  branches 
all  laden  with  snow,  seemed  clothed  in  new  and  solemn 

Levin  followed  the  foot-path,  saying  to  himself :  — 

"  Be  calm !  there  is  no  reason  for  being  agitated ! 
What  do  you  desire  }  what  ails  you  ?    Be  quiet,  you  fool !  " 

Thus  Levin  addressed  his  heart.  And  the  more  he 
endeavored  to  calm  his  agitation,  the  more  he  was  over- 
come by  it,  till  at  last  he  could  hardly  breathe.  An 
acquaintance  spoke  to  him  as  he  passed,  but  Levin  did 
not  even  notice  who  it  was.  He  drew  near  the  ice- 
mountains,  on  which  creaked  the  ropes  that  let  down 
the  sledges  and  drew  them  up  again.  The  sleds  flew 
with  a  rush  down  the  slopes,  and  there  was  a  tumult 
of  happy  voices. 

He  went  a  few  steps  farther,  and  before  him  spread 
the  skating-ground ;  and  among  the  skaters  he  soon 
discovered  /ler.  He  knew  that  he  was  near  her  from 
the   joy   and   terror   that   seized   his    heart.     She   was 


standing  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  pond  engaged  in 
conversation  with  a  lady ;  and  nothing  either  in  her 
toilet  or  in  her  position  was  remarkable,  but  for  Levin 
she  stood  out  from  the  rest  like  a  rose-bush  among 
nettles.  Everything  was  made  radiant  by  her.  She 
was  the  smile  that  lightened  the  whole  place. 

"  Do  I  dare  to  go  and  meet  her  on  the  ice  ? "  he 
asked  himself.  The  place  where  she  was  seemed  like 
an  unapproachable  sanctuary,  and  for  a  moment  he 
almost  turned  to  go  away  again,  so  full  of  awe  it  was. 
He  had  to  master  himself  by  a  supreme  effort  to  think 
that,  as  she  was  surrounded  by  people  of  every  sort, 
he  had  as  much  right  as  the  rest  to  go  on  there  and 
skate.  So  he  went  down  on  the  ice,  not  letting  him- 
self look  long  at  her,  as  if  she  were  the  sun ;  but  he 
saw  her,  as  he  saw  the  sun,  even  though  he  did  not 
look  at  her. 

On  this  day  and  at  this  hour,  the  ice  formed  a  com- 
mon meeting-ground  for  people  of  one  clique,  all  of 
whom  were  well  acquainted.  There  were  also  masters 
in  the  art  of  skating,  who  came  to  show  off  their 
skill ;  others  were  learning  to  skate  by  holding  on 
chairs,  and  making  awkward  and  distressing  gestures ; 
there  were  young  lads  and  old  men,  who  skated  as  a 
gymnastic  exercise :  all  seemed  to  Levin  to  be  the 
happy  children  of  fortune  because  they  were  near 

And  all  these  skaters,  with  apparently  perfect  un- 
concern, glided  around  her,  came  close  to  her,  even 
spoke  to  her,  and  with  absolute  indifference  to  her 
enjoyed  themselves,  making  the  most  of  the  good 
skating  and  splendid  weather. 

Nikolai  Shcherbatsky,  Kitty's  cousin,  in  short  jacket 
and  knickerbockers,  was  seated  on  a  bench  with  his 
skates  on,  and  seeing  Levin,  he  cried  :  — 

"  Ah  !  the  best  skater  in  Russia !  Have  you  been 
here  long }  The  ice  is  first-rate  !  Put  on  your  skates 
quick !  " 

"  I  have  not  my  skates  with  me,"  replied  Levin,  sur- 
prised at  this  freedom  and  audacity  in  her  presence,  and 


not  losing  her  out  of  his  sight  a  single  instant,  although 
he  did  not  look  at  her.  He  felt  that  the  sun  was  shin- 
ing nearer  to  him.  She  was  at  one  corner  and  came 
gliding  toward  him,  putting  together  her  slender  feet 
in  high  boots,  and  evidently  feeling  a  little  timid.  A 
boy  in  Russian  costume  was  clumsily  trying  to  get 
ahead  of  her,  desperately  waving  his  arms  and  bending 
far  forward.  Kitty  herself  did  not  skate  with  much 
confidence.  She  had  taken  her  hands  out  of  her  little 
muff,  suspended  by  a  ribbon,  and  held  them  ready  to 
grasp  the  first  object  that  came  in  her  way.  Looking 
at  Levin,  whom  she  had  recognized,  she  smiled  at  him 
and  at  her  own  timidity.  As  soon  as  this  evolution 
was  finished,  she  struck  out  with  her  elastic  little  foot, 
and  skated  up  to  Shcherbatsky,  seized  him  by  the  arm, 
and  gave  Levin  a  friendly  welcome.  She  was  more 
charming  even  than  he  had  imagined  her  to  be. 

Whenever  he  thought  of  her,  he  could  easily  recall 
her  whole  appearance,  but  especially  the  charm  of  her 
small  blond  head,  set  so  gracefully  on  her  pretty  shoul- 
ders, and  her  expression  of  childlike  frankness  and 
goodness.  The  combination  of  childlike  grace  and  deli- 
cate beauty  of  form  was  her  special  charm,  and  Levin 
thoroughly  appreciated  it.  But  what  struck  him  like 
something  always  new  and  unexpected  was  the  look 
in  her  sweet  eyes,  her  calm  and  sincere  face,  and  her 
smile,  which  transported  him  to  a  world  of  enchantment, 
where  he  felt  at  peace  and  at  rest,  as  he  remembered 
occasionally  feeling  in  the  days  of  his  early  childhood. 

"  Have  you  been  here  long  ? "  she  asked,  giving  him 
her  hand. 

"Thank  you,"  she  added,  as  he  picked  up  her  hand- 
kerchief, which  had  dropped  out  of  her  muff. 

"I.''  No,  not  long;  I  came  yesterday ....  that  is,  to- 
day," answered  Levin,  so  agitated  that  at  first  he  did 
not  get  the  drift  of  her  question.  "  I  wanted  to  call 
upon  you,"  said  he ;  and  when  he  remembered  what 
his  errand  was,  he  grew  red,  and  was  more  distressed 
than  ever.  "I  did  not  know  that  you  skated,  and  so 


She  looked  at  him  closely,  as  if  trying  to  divine  the 
reason  of  his  embarrassment. 

"  Your  praise  is  precious.  A  tradition  that  you  are 
the  best  of  skaters  is  still  floating  about,"  said  she, 
brushing  off  with  her  little  hand,  in  its  black  glove,  the 
pine  needles  that  had  fallen  on  her  muff. 

"  Yes,  I  used  to  be  passionately  fond  of  skating.  I 
had  the  ambition  to  reach  perfection." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  do  all  things  passionately," 
said  she,  with  a  smile.  "  I  should  like  to  see  you  skate. 
Put  on  your  skates,  and  we  will  skate  together." 

"  Skate  together  .-* "  he  thought,  as  he  looked  at  her. 
"  Is  it  possible.?" 

"  I  will  go  and  put  them  right  on,"  he  said  ;  and  he 
hastened  to  find  a  pair  of  skates. 

"  It  is  a  long  time,  sir,  since  you  have  been  with  us," 
said  the  katalshchik,  as  he  lifted  his  foot  to  fit  the  heel 
to  it.  "  Since  your  day,  we  have  not  had  any  one  who 
deserved  to  be  called  a  master  in  the  art.  Are  they 
going  to  suit  you  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  tightened  the  strap. 

"Excellent,  excellent;  only  please  make  haste,"  said 
Levin,  unable  to  hide  the  smile  of  joy  which,  in  spite 
of  him,  irradiated  his  face.  "Yes,"  said  he  to  himself, 
"  this  is  life,  this  is  happiness.  '  We  will  skate  together^ 
she  said.  Shall  I  speak  to  her  now.-*  But  I  am  afraid 
to  speak,  because  I  am  happy,  happy  only  in  the 
hope ....  Yet  when  .-'....  But  it  must  be,  it  must,  it  must. 
Down  with  weakness !  " 

Levin  stood  up,  took  off  his  cloak,  and,  after  making 
his  way  across  the  rough  ice  around  the  little  house,  he 
skated  out  on  the  glare  surface  without  effort,  hasten- 
ing, shortening,  and  directing  his  pace  as  if  by  the 
mere  effort  of  his  will.  He  felt  timid  about  coming  up 
to  her,  but  again  her  smile  assured  him. 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  they  skated  side  by  side, 
gradually  increasing  speed ;  and  the  faster  they  went, 
the  closer  she  held  his  hand. 

"  I  should  learn  very  quickly  with  you,"  she  said. 
"  I  somehow  feel  confidence  in  you." 

"I  am   confident  in   myself  when  you  cling  to  my 


hand,"  he  answered,  and  immediately  he  was  startled  at 
what  he  had  said,  and  grew  red  in  the  face.  In  fact, 
he  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words,  when,  just  as  the  sun 
goes  under  a  cloud,  her  face  lost  all  its  kindliness,  and 
Levin  became  aware  of  the  well-remembered  play  of 
her  face  indicating  the  force  of  her  thoughts ;  a  slight 
frown  wrinkled  her  smooth  brow  ! 

"  Has  anything  disagreeable  happened  to  you  ?  but  I 
have  no  right  to  ask,"  he  added  quickly. 

"  Why  so  .''  No,  nothing  disagreeable  has  happened 
to  me,"  she  said  coolly,  and  immediately  continued, 
"  Have  you  seen  Mile.  Linon  yet .-'  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Go  to  see  her ;  she  is  so  fond  of  you." 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  I  have  offended  her  !  Lord  ! 
have  pity  upon  me  !  "  thought  Levin,  and  skated  swiftly 
toward  the  old  French  governess,  with  little  gray  curls, 
who  was  watching  them  from  a  bench.  She  received 
him  like  an  old  friend,  smiling,  and  showing  her  false 

"Yes,  but  how  we  have  grown  up,"  she  said,  indicat- 
ing Kitty  with  her  eyes ;  "  and  how  demure  we  are ! 
Tiny  bear  has  grown  large,"  continued  the  old  gover- 
ness, still  smiling ;  and  she  recalled  his  jest  about  the 
three  young  ladies  whom  he  had  named  after  the  three 

bears  in  the  English  story "  Do  you  remember  that 

you  used  to  call  them  so  ."^ " 

He  had  entirely  forgotten  it,  but  she  had  laughed  at 
this  pleasantry  for  ten  years,  and  still  enjoyed  it. 

"  Now  go,  go  and  skate.  Does  n't  our  Kitty  take  to  it 
beautifully } " 

When  Levin  rejoined  Kitty,  her  face  was  no  longer 
severe ;  her  eyes  had  regained  their  frank  and  kindly 
expression ;  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  her  very  kindli- 
ness had  a  peculiar  premeditated  tone  of  serenity,  and 
he  felt  troubled.  After  speaking  of  the  old  governess 
and  her  eccentricities,  she  asked  him  about  his  own  life. 
•*  Is  n't  it  a  bore  living  in  the  country  in  the  winter  .? " 
she  asked. 

"  No,  it  is  not  a  bore;  I  am  very  busy,"  he  replied, 


conscious  that  she  was  bringing  him  into  the  atmosphere 
of  serene  friendliness  from  which  he  could  not  escape 
now,  any  more  than  he  could  at  the  beginning  of  the 

"  Shall  you  stay  long  ?  "  asked  Kitty. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  answered,  without  regard  to 
what  he  was  saying.  The  thought  that,  if  he  fell  back 
into  that  tone  of  calm  friendship,  he  might  return  home 
without  reaching  any  decision,  occurred  to  him,  and  he 
resolved  to  rebel  against  it. 

"  Why  don't  you  know .''  " 

"  I  don't  know  why.  It  depends  on  you,"  he  said, 
and  instantly  he  was  horrified  at  his  own  words. 

She  either  did  not  understand  his  words,  or  did  not 
want  to  understand  them,  for,  seeming  to  stumble  once 
or  twice,  catching  her  foot,  she  hurriedly  skated  away 
from  him;  and,  having  spoken  to  Mile.  Linon,  she  went 
to  the  little  house,  where  her  skates  were  removed  by 
the  waiting-women. 

"  My  God  !  what  have  I  done  ?  O  Lord  God  !  have 
pity  upon  me,  and  come  to  my  aid  !  "  was  Levin's  secret 
prayer ;  and,  feeling  the  need  of  taking  some  violent 
exercise,  he  began  to  describe  outer  and  inner  curves  on 
the  ice. 

At  this  instant  a  young  man,  the  best  among  the  re- 
cent skaters,  came  out  of  the  caf/  with  his  skates  on, 
and  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth ;  with  one  spring  he  slid 
down,  slipping  and  leaping  from  step  to  step,  and,  with- 
out even  changing  the  easy  position  of  his  arms,  skated 
down  and  out  upon  the  ice. 

"  Ah,  that  is  a  new  trick,"  said  Levin  to  himself,  and 
he  climbed  up  to  the  top  of  the  bank  to  try  the  new  trick. 

"  Don't  you  kill  yourself !  it  needs  practice,"  shouted 
Nikolai  Shcherbatsky. 

Levin  went  up  to  the  platform,  got  as  good  a  start  as 
he  could,  and  then  flew  down  the  steps  preserving  his 
balance  with  his  arms ;  but  at  the  last  step  he  stumbled, 
made  a  violent  effort  to  recover  himself,  regained  his 
equilibrium,  and  with  a  laugh  glided  out  upon  the  ice. 

"Charming,  glorious  fellow,"  thought  Kitty,  at  this 


moment  coming  out  of  the  little  house  with  Mile.  Linon, 
and  looking  at  him  with  a  gentle,  affectionate  smile,  as  if 
he  were  a  beloved  brother.  "Is  it  my  fault  ?  Have  I 
done  anything  very  bad?  People  say,  'Coquetry.'  I 
know  that  I  don't  love  him,  but  it  is  pleasant  to  be  with 
him,  and  he  is  such  a  splendid  fellow.  But  what  made 
him  say  that  .-*  ".... 

Seeing  Kitty  departing  with  her  mother,  who  had 
come  for  her,  Levin,  flushed  with  his  violent  exercise, 
stopped  and  pondered.  Then  he  took  off  his  skates, 
and  joined  the  mother  and  daughter  at  the  gate. 

"Very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  princess;  "we  re- 
ceive on  Thursdays,  as  usual." 

"To-day,  then.?" 

"We  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you,"  she  answered 

This  coolness  troubled  Kitty,  and  she  could  not  re- 
strain her  desire  to  temper  her  mother's  chilling  man- 
ner. She  turned  her  head,  and  said,  with  a  smile,  "  We 
shall  see  you,  I  hope."^ 

At  this  moment  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  with  hat  on 
one  side,  with  animated  face  and  bright  eyes,  entered 
the  garden.  But  as  he  came  up  to  his  wife's  mother, 
he  assumed  a  melancholy  and  humiliated  expression, 
and  replied  to  the  questions  which  she  asked  about 
Dolly's  health.  When  he  had  finished  speaking  in  a 
low  and  broken  voice  with  his  mother-in-law,  he  straight- 
ened himself  up,  and  took  Levin's  arm. 

"  Now,  then,  shall  we  go  .''  I  have  been  thinking  of 
you  all  the  time,  and  I  am  very  glad  that  you  came," 
he  said,  with  a  significant  look  into  his  eyes. 

"Come  on,  come  on,"  replied  the  happy  Levin,  who 
did  not  cease  to  hear  the  sound  of  a  voice  saying,  "  We 
shall  see  yon,  I  Jiope,''  or  to  recall  the  smile  that  accom- 
panied the  words. 

"At  the  Anglia,  or  at  the  Hermitage  .-'  " 

"  It 's  all  the  same  to  me." 

"At  the  Anglia,  then,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch, 
making  this  choice  because  he  owed  more  there  than  at 

1  Simply  da  svidanya,  equivalent  to  au  revoir. 


the  Hermitage,  and  it  seemed  unworthy  of  him,  so  to 
speak,  to  avoid  this  restaurant.  "You  have  an  izvosh- 
chik  ?  So  much  the  better,  for  I  sent  off  my  car- 

While  they  were  on  the  way,  the  friends  did  not 
exchange  a  word.  Levin  was  pondering  on  the  mean- 
ing of  the  change  in  the  expression  of  Kitty's  face,  and 
at  one  moment  persuaded  himself  that  there  was  hope, 
and  at  the  next  plunged  into  despair,  and  he  saw  clearly 
that  his  hope  was  unreasonable.  Nevertheless,  he  felt 
that  he  was  another  man  since  he  had  heard  those 
words,  "We  shall  see  you,  I  hope,"  and  seen  her  smile. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  was  meantime  making  out  the 
'tnenu  for  their  dinner. 

"  You  like  turbot,  don't  you .-' "  were  his  first  words 
on  entering  the  restaurant. 

"What.''"    exclaimed  Levin "Turbot.?      Yes,  I 

am  excessively  fond  of  turbot." 


Levin  could  not  help  noticing,  as  they  entered  the 
restaurant,  how  Stepan  Arkadyevitch's  face  and  whole 
person  seemed  to  shine  with  restrained  happiness.  Ob- 
lonsky  took  off  his  overcoat,  and,  with  hat  over  one  ear, 
marched  toward  the  dining-room,  giving,  as  he  went,  his 
orders  to  the  Tatars  who  in  swallow-tails  and  with  nap- 
kins came  hurrying  to  meet  him.  Bowing  right  and  left 
to  his  acquaintances,  who  here  as  everywhere  seemed 
delighted  to  see  him,  he  went  directly  to  the  bar  and 
took  some  vodka  and  a  little  fish,  and  said  something 
comical  to  the  barmaid,  a  pretty,  curly-haired  French 
girl,  painted,  and  covered  with  ribbons  and  lace,  so  that 
she  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter.  But  Levin  would  not 
drink  any  vodka  simply  because  the  sight  of  this  French 
creature,  all  made  up,  apparently,  of  false  hair,  rice- 
powder,  and  vinaigre  de  toilette  was  revolting  to  him. 
He  turned  away  from  her  quickly,  with  disgust,  as  from 
some    horrid    place.     His    whole    soul  was    filled   with 


memories  of  Kitty,  and  his  eyes  shone  with  triumph  and 

"  This  way,  your  excellency ;  come  this  way,  and 
your  excellency  will  not  be  disturbed,"  said  a  specially 
obsequious  old  Tatar,  whose  monstrous  hips  made  the 
tails  of  his  coat  stick  out  behind.  "  Will  you  come  this 
way,  your  excellency?"  said  he  to  Levin,  as  a  sign  of 
respect  for  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  whose  guest  he  was. 
In  a  twinkling  he  had  spread  a  fresh  cloth  on  the  round 
table,  which,  already  covered,  stood  under  the  bronze 
chandelier;  then,  bringing  two  velvet  chairs,  he  stood 
waiting  for  Stepan  Arkadyevitch's  orders,  holding  in 
one  hand  his  napkin,  and  his  order-card  in  the  other. 

"  If   your   excellency  would   like  to  have  a  private 

room,  one  will  be  at  your  service  in  a  few  moments 

Prince  Galitsuin  and  a  lady.  We  have  just  received 
fresh  oysters." 

"Ah,  oysters!  " 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  reflected.  "  Supposing  we 
change  our  plan.  Levin,"  said  he,  with  his  finger  on 
the  bill  of  fare.     His  face  showed  serious  hesitation. 

"  But  are  the  oysters  good  ?     Pay  attention  !  " 

**  They  are  from  Flensburg,  your  excellency ;  there 
are  none  from  Ostend." 

**  Flensburg  oysters  are  well  enough,  but  are  they 

"  They  came  yesterday." 

"Very  good!  What  do  you  say.' — to  begin  with 
oysters,  and  then  to  make  a  complete  change  in  our 
menu  f     What  say  you  .''  " 

"  It 's  all  the  same  to  me.  I  'd  like  best  of  all  some 
skchi^  and  kasJia^  but  you  can't  get  them  here." 

"  Kasha  a  la  riisse,  if  you  would  like  to  order  it,"  said 
the  Tatar,  bending  over  toward  Levin  as  a  nurse  bends 
toward  a  child. 

"  No.  Jesting  aside,  whatever  you  wish  is  good.  I 
have  been  skating  and  should  like  something  to  eat. 
Don't  imagine,"  he  added,  as  he  saw  an  expression  of 
disappointment  on    Oblonsky's   face,   "  that   I    do   not 

1  Cabbage  soup.  *  Wheat  gruel. 


appreciate  your  selection.  I  can  eat  a  good  dinner  with 

"  It  should  be  more  than  that !  You  should  say  that 
it  is  one  of  the  pleasures  of  life,"  said  Stepan  Arkady e- 
vitch.  "  In  this  case,  little  brother  mine,  give  us  two, 
or.... no,  that 's  not  enough,  three  dozen  oysters,  vegetable 
soup ....  " 

"  Printanikre,"  suggested  the  Tatar. 

But  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  did  not  allow  him  the 
pleasure  of  enumerating  the  dishes  in  French,  and  con- 
tinued :  — 

"  Vegetable  soup,  you  understand ;  then  turbot,  with 
thick  sauce ;  then  roast  beef,  but  see  to  it  that  it 's  all 
right.     Yes,  some  capon,  and  lastly,  some  preserve." 

The  Tatar,  remembering  Stepan  Arkadyevitch's  ca- 
price of  not  calling  the  dishes  by  their  French  names, 
instead  of  repeating  them  after  him,  waited  till  he  had 
finished;  then  he  gave  himself  the  pleasure  of  repeating 
the  order  according  to  the  bill  of  fare  :  — 

"  Potage  printanih'e,  turbot,  sauce  Beatimarchais, 
ponlarde  a  V estragon,  macidoine  de  fruits^ 

Then  instantly,  as  if  moved  by  a  spring,  he  substi- 
tuted for  the  bill  of  fare  the  wine-list,  which  he  presented 
to  Stepan  Arkadyevitch. 

"  What  shall  we  drink  .? " 

"Whatever  you  please,  only  not  much.... champagne," 
suggested  Levin. 

**  What !  at  the  very  beginning  ?  But  you  may  be 
right ;  why  not .''     Do  you  like  the  white  seal } 

"  Cachet  blanc^'  repeated  the  Tatar. 

"  Well,  then,  give  us  that  brand  with  the  oysters. 
Then  we  '11  see." 

"  It  shall  be  done,  sir.  And  what  table  wine  shall  I 
bring  you } " 

"Some  Nuits ;  no,  hold  on  —  give  us  some  classic 

"  It  shall  be  done,  sir ;  and  will  you  order  some  of 
f02er  cheese .'' " 

"Yes,  somQ parmesan.  Or  do  you  prefer  some  other 


"  No,  it 's  all  the  same  to  me,"  replied  Levin,  who 
could  not  keep  from  smiling. 

The  Tatar  disappeared  on  the  trot,  with  his  coat 
tails  flying  out  behind  him.  Five  minutes  later  he  came 
with  a  platter  of  oysters  opened  and  on  the  shell,  and 
with  a  bottle  in  his  hand.  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  crum- 
pled up  his  well-starched  napkin,  tucked  it  into  his 
waistcoat,  calmly  stretched  out  his  hands,  and  began 
to  attack  the  oysters. 

"  Not  bad  at  all,"  he  said,  as  he  lifted  the  succulent 
oysters  from  their  shells  with  a  silver  fork,  and  swal- 
lowed them  one  by  one.  "  Not  at  all  bad,"  he  repeated, 
looking  from  Levin  to  the  Tatar,  his  eyes  gleaming 
with  satisfaction. 

Levin  also  ate  his  oysters,  although  he  would  have 
preferred  white  bread  and  cheese ;  but  he  could  not 
help  admiring  Oblonsky.  Even  the  Tatar,  after  un- 
corking the  bottle  and  pouring  the  sparkling  wine  into 
wide,  delicate  glass  cups,  looked  at  Stepan  Arkadyevitch 
with  a  noticeable  smile  of  satisfaction  while  he  adjusted 
his  white  necktie. 

"  You  are  not  very  fond  of  oysters,  are  you  .''  "  asked 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  draining  his  glass.  "  Or  you  are 
preoccupied.'*     Hey.-'" 

He  wanted  Levin  to  be  in  good  spirits,  but  Levin  was 
anxious,  if  he  was  not  downcast.  His  heart  being  so 
full,  he  found  himself  out  of  his  element  in  this  restau- 
rant, amid  the  confusion  of  guests  coming  and  going, 
surrounded  by  the  private  rooms  where  men  and  women 
were  dining  together ;  everything  was  repugnant  to  his 
feelings, — the  whole  outfit  of  bronzes  and  mirrors,  the 
gas  and  the  Tatars.  He  feared  that  the  sentiment 
that  occupied  his  soul  would  be  defiled. 

"  I .''  Yes,  I  am  a  little  absent-minded ;  but  besides, 
everything  here  confuses  me.  You  can't  imagine,"  he 
said,  "how  strange  all  these  surroundings  seem  to  a 
countryman  like  myself.  It 's  like  the  finger-nails  of 
that  gentleman  whom  I  met  at  your  office." .... 

"  Yes,  I  noticed  that  poor  Grinevitch's  finger-nails  inter- 
ested you  greatly,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  laughing. 


"  It  is  of  no  use,"  replied  Levin.  "  Suppose  you  come 
to  me  and  try  the  standpoint  of  a  man  accustomed  to 
living  in  the  country.  We  in  the  country  try  to  have 
hands  suitable  to  work  with;  therefore  we  cut  off  our 
finger-nails,  and  oftentimes  we  even  turn  back  our 
sleeves.  But  here  men  let  their  nails  grow  as  long  as 
possible,  and  so  as  to  be  sure  of  not  being  able  to  do 
any  work  with  their  hands,  they  fasten  their  sleeves  with 
plates  for  buttons." 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  smiled  gayly  :  — 

"That  is  a  sign  that  he  has  no  need  of  manual  labor; 
it  is  brain-work  ....  " 

"  Perhaps  so.  Yet  it  seems  strange  to  me,  no  less 
than  this  that  we  are  doing  here.  In  the  country  we 
make  haste  to  get  through  our  meals  so  as  to  be  at  work 
again  ;  but  here  you  and  I  are  doing  our  best  to  eat  as 
long  as  possible  without  getting  satisfied,  and  so  we  are 
eating  oysters.  " .... 

"  Well,  there 's  something  in  that,"  replied  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch  ;  "  but  the  aim  of  civilization  is  to  trans- 
late everything  into  enjoyment." 

"  If  that  is  its  aim,  I  should  prefer  to  be  untamed." 

"  And  you  are  untamed  I  All  you  Levins  are  un- 

Levin  sighed.  He  thought  of  his  brother  Nikolai", 
and  felt  mortified  and  saddened,  and  his  face  grew 
dark  ;  but  Oblonsky  introduced  a  topic  which  had  the 
immediate  effect  of  diverting  him. 

"  Very  well,  come  this  evening  to  our  house.  I  mean 
to  the  Shcherbatskys',"  said  he,  pushing  away  the 
empty  oyster-shells,  drawing  the  cheese  toward  him, 
and  flashing  his  eyes  significantly. 

"Yes,  I  will  surely  come,"  replied  Levin;  "though 
it  did  not  seem  that  the  princess  was  very  cordial  in  her 

"What  rubbish  !     It  was  only  her  manner Come, 

friend,  bring  us  the  soup It  was  only  her  graiidc  da^ne 

manner,"  replied  Stepan  Arkadyevitch.  "  I  shall  come 
there  immediately  after  a  rehearsal  at  .the  Countess 
Bonina's How  can  we   help  calling  you  untamed .-' 


How  can  you  explain  your  flight  from  Moscow  ?  The 
Shcherbatskys  have  kept  asking  me  about  you,  as  if  I 
were  Ukely  to  know !  I  only  know  one  thing,  that  you 
are  always  likely  to  do  things  that  no  one  else  did." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Levin,  slowly,  and  with  emotion  ;  "  you 
are  right,  I  am  untamed  ;  yet  it  was  not  that  I  went, 
but  that  I  have  come  back  proves  me  so !  I  have  come 

"  Oh,  what  a  lucky  fellow  you  are !  "  interrupted 
Oblonsky,  looking  into  Levin's  eyes. 


"  I  know  fiery  horses  by  their  brand,  and  I  know 
young  people  who  are  in  love  by  their  eyes,"  said 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  dramatically  ;  "  everything  is  be- 
fore you !  " 

"  And  yourself,  —  is' everything  behind  you  .-'  " 

"  No,  not  altogether,  but  you  have  the  future ;  and  I 
have  the  present,  and  this  present  is  between  the  devil 
and  the  deep  sea  !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing  good.  But  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  my- 
self, especially  as  I  cannot  explain  the  circumstances," 
replied  Stepan  Arkadyevitch.  "  What  did  you  come  to 
Moscow  for  .-*....  Here!  clear  off  the  things!"  he  cried 
to  the  Tatar. 

"  Can't  you  imagine  ?  "  answered  Levin,  not  taking 
his  glowing  eyes  from  Oblonsky's  face. 

"  I  can  imagine,  but  it  is  not  for  me  to  be  the  first  to 
speak  about  it.  By  this  you  can  tell  whether  I  am 
right  in  my  conjecture,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch, 
looking  at  Levin  with  a  sly  smile. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  to  tell  me  ?  "  asked  Levin, 
with  a  trembling  voice,  and  feeling  all  the  muscles  of 
his  face  quiver.     "  How  do  you  look  at  this  ?  " 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  slowly  drank  his  glass  of  Chablis 
while  he  looked  steadily  at  Levin. 

"  I .''  "  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch.  "There  is  nothing 
that  I  should  like  so  much  —  nothing.  It  is  the  best 
thing  that  could  possibly  be  !  " 

"  But  are  n't  you  mistaken  ?     Do  you  know  what  we 


are  talking  about  ? "  murmured  Levin,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  his  companion.   "Do  you  beHeve  that  this  is  possible  ? " 

"  I  think  it  is  possible.     Why  should  n't  it  be  .-*  " 

"  No,  do  you  really  think  that  it  is  possible  .-'  No  ! 
tell  me  what  you  really  think.  If....  if  she  should  refuse 
me....  and  I  am  almost  certain  that....  " 

"Why  should  you  be  ?  "  asked  Stepan  Arkadyevitch, 
smiling  at  this  emotion. 

"  It  is  my  intuition.  It  would  be  terrible  for  me  and 
for  her." 

"  Oh !  in  any  case,  I  can't  see  that  it  would  be  very 
terrible  for  her ;  a  young  girl  is  always  flattered  to  be 
asked  in  marriage." 

"  Young  girls  in  general,  perhaps,  not  she." 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  smiled ;  he  perfectly  under- 
stood Levin's  feeling,  knew  that  for  him  all  the  young 
girls  in  the  universe  were  divided  into  two  categories  : 
in  the  one,  all  the  young  girls  in  existence  except  her  — 
and  these  girls  had  all  the  faults  common  to  humanity, 
in  other  words,  ordinary  girls  ;  in  the  other,  she  alone, 
without  any  faults,  and  placed  above  the  rest  of 

"  Hold  on !  take  some  gravy,"  said  he,  stopping 
Levin's  hand,  who  was  pushing  away  the  gravy. 

Levin  took  the  gravy  in  all  humility,  but  he  did  not 
give  Oblonsky  a  chance  to  eat. 

"  No,  just  wait,  wait,"  said  he ;  "  you  understand 
this  is  for  me  a  question  of  life  and  death.  I  have 
never  spoken  to  any  one  else  about  it,  and  I  cannot 
speak  to  any  one  else  but  you.  I  know  we  are  very 
different  from  each  other,  have  different  tastes,  views, 
everything  ;  but  I  know  also  that  you  love  me,  and 
that  you  understand  me,  and  that 's  the  reason  I  am  so 
fond  of  you.  Now,  for  God's  sake,  be  perfectly  sincere 
with  me." 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think,"  said  Stepan  Arka- 
dyevitch, smiHng.  "  But  I  will  tell  you  more  :  my  wife 
—  a  most  extraordinary  woman  "  —  and  Stepan  Ar- 
kadyevitch sighed,  as  he  remembered  his  relations  with 
his  wife  —  then  after  a  moment's  silence  he  proceeded 


—  "she  has  a  gift  of  second  sight,  and  sees  through 
people,  but  that  is  nothing !  she  knows  what  is  going  to 
happen,  especially  when  there  is  a  question  of  marriage. 
Thus,  she  predicted  that  Brenteln  would  marry  Sha- 
khovskaya ;  no  one  would  believe  it,  and  yet  it  came  to 
pass.     Well,  my  wife  is  on  your  side." 

"  What  do  you  mean  }  " 

"  I  mean  that  she  likes  you  ;  she  says  that  Kitty  will 
be  your  wife." 

As  he  heard  these  words,  Levin's  face  suddenly 
lighted  up  with  a  smile  which  was  near  to  tears  of 

"  She  said  that !  "  he  cried.  "  I  always  said  that  your 
wife  was  charming.  But  enough,  enough  of  this  sort  of 
talk,"  he  added,  and  rose  from  the  table. 

"  Good  !  but  sit  a  little  while  longer." 

But  Levin  could  not  sit  down.  He  strode  two  or 
three  times  up  and  down  the  little  square  room,  wink- 
ing his  eyes  to  hide  the  tears,  and  then  he  sat  down 
again  at  the  table. 

"  Understand  me,"  he  said  ;  "  this  is  not  love.  I  have 
been  in  love,  but  this  is  not  the  same  thing.  This  is 
more  than  a  sentiment ;  it  is  an  inward  power  that  con- 
trols me.  You  see,  I  went  away  because  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  that  such  happiness  could  not  exist,  that 
such  good  fortune  could  not  be  on  earth.  But  after  a 
struggle  with  myself,  I  find  that  I  cannot  live  without 
this.     This  question  must  be  decided...." 

"  But  why  did  you  go  away  .-*  " 

"  Akh  !  wait !  Akh  !  so  many  things  to  think  about ! 
so  much  to  ask  !  Listen,  you  cannot  imagine  what  your 
words  have  done  for  me !  I  am  so  happy  that  I  have 
already  grown  detestable  !  I  am  forgetting  everything ; 
and  yet  this  very  day  I  heard  that  my  brother  Nikolai  — 
you  know  —  he  is  here,  and  I  had  entirely  forgotten  him. 
It  seems  to  me  that  he,  too,  ought  to  be  happy.  But  this 
is  like  a  fit  of  madness.     But  one  thing  seems  terrible  to 

me You  are  married ;  you  ought  to  know  this  feeling. 

It  is  terrible  that  we  who  are  already  getting  old  ....  with  a 
pastbehindus....notof  love  but  of  wickedness. ...suddenly 


come  into  close  relations  with  a  pure  and  innocent 
being.  This  is  disgusting,  and  so  I  cannot  help  feeling 
that  I  am  unworthy." 

"  Well !  you  have  not  much  wickedness  to  answer 

"  Akh  !  "  said  Levin;  "and  yet,  ^  as  I  look  zuith  dis- 
gust 071  vty  life,  I  tremble  atid  cjirse  and  mourn  bitterly,' 

"  But  what  can  you  do  .''  the  world  is  thus  constituted," 
said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch. 

"  There  is  only  one  consolation,  and  that  is  in  the 
prayer  that  I  have  always  loved  :  'Pardon  me  not  accord- 
ing to  my  deserts,  but  according  to  Thy  loving-kindness' 
Thus  only  can  she  forgive  me." 


Levin  drained  his  glass,  and  they  were  silent. 

"  I  ought  to  tell  you  one  thing,  though.  Do  you  know 
Vronsky  }  "  asked  Stepan  Arkadyevitch. 

"  No,  I  don't  know  him ;  why  do  you  ask  .-*  " 

"  Bring  us  another  bottle,"  said  Oblonsky  to  the 
Tatar,  who  was  refilling  their  glasses  and  was  hover- 
ing about  them,  especially  when  he  was  not  needed. 
"  You  must  know  that  Vronsky  is  one  of  your  rivals." 

"  Who  is  this  Vronsky  .'^  "  asked  Levin,  and  his  face, 
a  moment  since  beaming  with  the  youthful  enthusiasm 
which  Oblonsky  so  much  admired,  suddenly  took  on  a 
disagreeable  expression  of  anger. 

"  Vronsky  —  he  is  one  of  Count  Kirill  Ivanovitch 
Vronsky's  sons,  and  one  of  the  finest  examples  of  the 
gilded  youth  of  Petersburg.  I  used  to  know  him  at 
Tver  when  I  was  on  duty  there  ;  he  came  there  for  re- 
cruiting service.  He  is  immensely  rich,  handsome,  with 
excellent  connections,  one  of  the  emperor's  aides,  and, 
moreover,  a  capital  good  fellow.  From  what  I  have 
seen  of  him,  he  is  more  than  a  '  good  fellow ' ;  he  is 
well  educated  and  bright,  he  is  a  rising  man." 

Levin  scowled,  and  said  nothing. 


"  Well,  then !  he  put  in  an  appearance  soon  after  you 
left ;  and,  as  I  understand,  he  fell  over  ears  in  love  with 
Kitty.     You  understand  that  her  mother....  " 

"  Excuse  me,  but  I  don't  understand  at  all,"  inter- 
rupted Levin,  scowling  still  more  fiercely.  And  sud- 
denly he  remembered  his  brother  Nikolai',  and  how  ugly 
it  was  in  him  to  forget  him, 

"Just  wait,  wait,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  laying 
his  hand  on  Levin's  arm  with  a  smile.  "  I  have  told 
you  all  that  I  know ;  but  I  repeat,  that,  in  my  humble 
opinion,  the  chances  in  this  delicate  affair  are  on  your 

Levin  leaned  back  in  his  chair ;  his  face  was  pale. 

"  But  I  advise  you  to  settle  the  matter  as  quickly  as 
possible,"  suggested  Oblonsky,  filling  up  his  glass. 

"  No,  thank  you :    I    cannot   drink   any  more,"  said 

Levin,  pushing  away  the  glass.     "  I  shall  be  tipsy 

Well,  how  are  you  feeling?"  he  added,  desiring  to 
change  the  conversation. 

"  One  word  more :  in  any  case  I  advise  you  to  settle 
the  question  quickly.  I  advise  you  to  speak  immedi- 
ately," said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch.  "  Go  to-morrow 
morning,  make  your  proposal  in  classic  style,  and  God 
bless  you." .... 

"  Why  have  n't  you  ever  come  to  hunt  with  me  as 
you  promised  to  do  ."^     Come  this  spring,"  said  Levin. 

He  now  repented  with  all  his  heart  that  he  had  en- 
tered upon  this  conversation  with  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  : 
his  deepest  feelings  were  wounded  by  what  he  had  just 
learned  of  the  pretensions  of  his  rival,  the  young  officer 
from  Petersburg,  as  well  as  by  the  advice  and  insinua- 
tions of  Stepan  Arkadyevitch. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  smiled.  He  perceived  what 
was  taking  place  in  Levin's  heart, 

"I  will  come  some  day,"  he  said,  "Yes,  brother, 
woman's  the  spring  that  moves  everything.  My  own 
trouble  is  bad,  very  bad.  And  all  on  account  of  women. 
Give  me  your  advice,"  said  he,  taking  a  cigar,  and  still 
holding  his  glass  in  his  hand.  "  Tell  me  frankly  what 
you  think." 


"But  what  about?" 

"  Listen :  suppose  you  were  married,  that  you  loved 
your  wife,  but  had  been  drawn  away  by  another 
woman ....  " 

"  Excuse  me.  I  really  can't  imagine  any  such  thing. 
As  it  looks  to  me,  it  would  be  as  if  in  coming  out  from 
dinner,  I  should  steal  a  loaf  of  bread  from  a  bakery." 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch's  eyes  sparkled  more  than  usual. 
"  Why  not  .'*  Bread  sometimes  smells  so  good,  that  one 
cannot  resist  the  temptation  :  — 

"  Himmlisch  I'sfs,  wenn  ich  bezwungen 
Aleine  irdische  Begier  : 
Aber  dock  wenns's  m'c/it  gelungen, 
HaW  ich  aiich  recht  hilbsch  Plaisiry^ 

As  he  repeated  these  lines,  Oblonsky  smiled. 

Levin  could  not  refrain  from  smiling  also. 

"  But  a  truce  to  pleasantries,"  continued  Oblonsky. 
"Imagine  a  woman,  a  charming,  modest,  loving  crea- 
ture, poor,  and  alone  in  the  world,  who  had  sacrificed 
everything  for  you.  Now,  imagine,  after  the  thing  is 
done,  is  it  necessary  to  give  her  up  }  We  '11  allow  that 
it  is  necessary  to  break  with  her,  so  as  not  to  disturb 
the  peace  of  the  family ;  but  ought  we  not  to  pity  her, 
to  make  provision  for  her,  to  soften  the  blow .?  " 

"  Pardon  me  ;  but  you  know  that  for  me  all  women  are 
divided  into  two  classes, ....  no,  that  is, ....  there  are  women, 
and  there  are ....  But  I  never  yet  have  seen  or  expect 
to  see  beautiful  fallen  women,  beautiful  repentant  Mag- 
dalens ;  and  such  women  as  that  painted  French  creature 
at  the  bar,  with  her  false  curls,  fill  me  with  disgust,  and 
all  fallen  women  are  the  same !  " 

"  But  the  woman  in  the  New  Testament }  " 

"  Akh  !  hold  your  peace.  Never  would  Christ  have 
said  those  words  if  he  had  known  to  what  bad  use  they 
would  be  put.     Out  of  the  whole  Gospel,  only  those 

1  It  was  heavenly  when  I  gained 
What  my  heart  desired  on  earth : 
Yet  if  not  all  were  attained, 
Still  I  had  my  share  of  mirth. 


words  are  taken.  However,  I  don't  say  what  I  think, 
but  what  I  feel.  You  feel  a  disgust  for  spiders  and 
I  for  these  reptiles.  You  see  you  did  not  have  to  study 
spiders,  and  you  know  nothing  about  their  natures. 
So  it  is  with  me." 

"  It  is  well  for  you  to  say  so ;  it  is  a  very  convenient 
way  to  do  as  the  character  in  Dickens  did,  and  throw 
all  embarrassing  questions  over  his  right  shoulder  with 
his  left  hand.  But  to  deny  a  fact  is  not  to  answer  it. 
Now,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  tell  me !  what  is  to  be  done  .-' 
Your  wife  grows  old  and  you  are  full  of  life.  Before 
you  are  aware  of  it  you  realize  that  you  do  not  love  your 
wife,  however  much  you  may  respect  her.  And  then 
suddenly  you  fall  in  love  with  some  one  and  you  fall, 
you  fall!  "  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  with  a  melancholy 

Levin  laughed, 

"  Yes,  you  fall !  "  repeated  Oblonsky.  "  Then  what 
is  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Don't  steal  fresh  bread." 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  burst  out  laughing. 

"  O  moralist !  but  please  appreciate  the  situation. 
Here  are  two  women :  one  insists  only  on  her  rights, 
and  her  rights  mean  your  love  which  you  cannot  give ; 
the  other  has  sacrificed  everything  for  you  and  demands 
nothing.  What  can  one  do  ?  How  can  one  proceed .'' 
Here  is  a  terrible  tragedy!  " 

"If  you  wish  my  judgment  concerning  this  tragedy, 
I  will  tell  you  that  I  don't  believe  in  this  tragedy,  and 
this  is  why.  In  my  opinion,  Love  —  the  two  Loves 
which  Plato  describes  in  his  '  Symposium,'  you  remem- 
ber, serve  as  the  touchstone  for  men.  Some  people 
understand  only  one  of  them ;  others  understand  the 
other.  Those  who  comprehend  only  the  Platonic  love 
have  no  right  to  speak  of  this  tragedy  now.  In  this 
sort  of  love  there  can  be  no  tragedy.  /  tJiank  yo?i 
humbly  for  the  pleasure  ;  and  therein  consists  the  whole 
drama.  But  for  Platonic  love  there  can  be  no  tragedy 
because  it  is  bright  and  pure,  and  because....  " 

At   this  moment   Levin  remembered  his  own   short- 


comings  and  the  inward  struggles  which  he  had  under- 
gone, and  he  unexpectedly  added,  "  However,  you  may 
be  right.  It  is  quite  possible....  I  know  nothing  —  abso- 
lutely nothing  —  about  it." 

"  Do  you  see,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  "  you  are 
a  very  perfect  man  ?  Your  great  virtue  is  your  only 
fault.  You  are  a  very  perfect  character  and  you  desire 
that  all  the  factors  of  life  should  also  be  perfect ;  but  this 
cannot  be.  Here  you  scorn  the  service  of  the  state, 
because,  according  to  your  idea,  every  action  should 
correspond  to  an  exact  end ;  but  this  cannot  be.  You 
require  also  that  the  activity  of  every  man  should  always 
have  an  object,  that  conjugal  life  and  love  be  one  and 
the  same ;  but  this  cannot  be.  All  the  variety,  all  the 
charm,  all  the  beauty,  of  life  consists  in  lights  and  shades." 

Levin  sighed,  and  did  not  answer ;  he  was  absorbed 
in  his  own  thoughts  and  did  not  even  listen. 

And  suddenly  both  of  them  felt  that,  though  they  were 
good  friends,  though  they  had  been  dining  together  and 
drinking  wine,  yet  each  was  thinking  only  of  his  own 
affairs  and  cared  nothing  for  the  affairs  of  the  other. 
Oblonsky  had  more  than  once  had  this  experience  after 
dining  with  a  friend,  and  he  knew  what  had  to  be  done 
when,  instead  of  coming  into  closer  sympathy,  the  dis- 
tance between  seemed  widened. 

"  The  account,"  he  cried,  and  went  into  the  next  room, 
where  he  met  an  aide  whom  he  knew,  and  with  whom 
he  began  to  talk  about  an  actress  and  her  lover.  This 
conversation  amused  and  rested  Oblonsky  after  his  con- 
versation with  Levin,  who  always  kept  his  mind  on  too 
great  an  intellectual  and  moral  strain. 

When  the  Tatar  brought  the  account,  amounting  to 
twenty-six  rubles  and  odd  kopeks,  and  something  more 
for  his  fee,  Levin,  who  at  any  other  time,  as  a  country- 
man, would  have  been  shocked  at  the  size  of  the  bill, 
paid  the  fourteen  rubles  of  his  share  without  noticing, 
and  went  to  his  lodgings  to  dress  for  the  reception  at 
the  Shcherbatskys',  where  his  fate  would  be  decided. 



The  Princess  Kitty  Shcherbatskaya  was  eighteen  years 
old.  She  was  making  her  first  appearance  in  society 
this  winter,  and  her  triumphs  had  been  more  brilliant 
than  her  elder  sisters,  more  than  even  her  mother,  had 
expected.  Not  only  were  almost  all  the  young  men 
who  danced  at  balls  in  Moscow  in  love  with  Kitty, 
but,  moreover,  there  were  two  who,  during  this  first 
winter,  were  serious  aspirants  to  her  hand,  —  Levin, 
and,  soon  after  his  departure,  Count  Vronsky. 

Levin's  appearance  at  the  beginning  of  the  winter, 
his  frequent  calls  and  his  unconcealed  love  for  Kitty, 
were  the  first  subjects  that  gave  cause  for  serious  con- 
versation between  her  father  and  mother  in  regard  to 
her  future  and  for  disputes  between  the  prince  and 
princess.  The  prince  was  on  Levin's  side,  and  declared 
that  he  could  not  desire  a  better  match  for  Kitty.  But 
the  princess,  with  the  skill  which  women  have  for  avoid- 
ing a  question,  insisted  that  Kitty  was  too  young,  that 
Levin  did  not  seem  to  be  serious  in  his  attentions,  and 
that  she  did  not  show  great  partiality  for  him ;  but 
she  did  not  express  what  was  in  the  bottom  of  her 
heart,  —  that  she  was  ambitious  for  a  more  brilliant 
marriage,  that  Levin  did  not  appeal  to  her  sympathies, 
and  that  she  did  not  understand  him.  And  when  Levin 
took  a  sudden  leave  she  was  glad  and  said;  with  an  air 
of  triumph,  to  her  husband  :  — 

"  You  see,  I  was  right." 

When  Vronsky  appeared  on  the  scene,  she  was  still 
more  glad,  being  confirmed  in  her  opinion  that  Kitty 
ought  to  make,  not  merely  a  good,  but  a  brilliant  match. 

For  the  princess  there  was  no  comparison  between 
Vronsky  and  Levin  as  suitors.  The  mother  disliked 
Levin  and  his  strange  and  harsh  judgments,  his  awk- 
wardness in  society,  which  she  attributed  to  his  pride  and 
what  she  called  his  savage  life  in  the  country,  occupied 
with  his  cattle  and  peasants.  Nor  did  she  like  it  at  all 
that  Levin,  though  he  was  in  love  with  her  daughter,  and 

ANNA   KARENINA  .      57 

had  been  a  frequent  visitor  at  their  house  for  six  weeks, 
had  appeared  like  a  man  who  was  hesitating,  watching, 
and  questioning  whether,  if  he  should  offer  himself,  the 
honor  which  he  conferred  on  them  would  not  be  too 
great,  and  that  he  did  not  seem  to  understand  that  when 
a  man  comes  assiduously  to  a  house  where  there  is  a 
marriageable  daughter,  it  is  proper  for  him  to  declare 
his  intentions.  And  then  he  suddenly  departed  with- 
out any  explanation  ! 

"It  is  fortunate,"  the  mother  thought,  "that  he  is  so 
unattractive,  and  that  Kitty  has  not  fallen  in  love  with 

Vronsky  satisfied  all  her  requirements :  he  was  very 
rich,  intelligent,  of  good  birth,  with  a  brilliant  career 
at  court  or  in  the  army  before  him,  and,  moreover,  he 
was  charming.  Nothing  better  could  be  desired.  Vron- 
sky was  devoted  to  Kitty  at  the  balls,  danced  with  her, 
and  called  upon  her  parents ;  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that  his  intentions  were  serious.  But,  notwithstanding 
this,  the  mother  had  passed  this  whole  winter  full  of 
doubts  and  perplexities. 

The  princess  herself  had  been  married  thirty  years 
before,  through  the  match-making  of  an  aunt.  Her 
suitor,  who  was  well  known  by  reputation,  came,  saw 
the  young  lady,  and  was  seen  by  the  family ;  the  aunt 
who  served  as  intermediary  gave  and  received  the  re- 
port of  the  impression  produced  on  both  sides ;  the 
impression  was  favorable.  Then  on  a  designated  day 
the  expected  proposal  was  made  on  the  parents,  and 
granted.  Everything  had  passed  off  very  easily  and 
simply.  At  least,  so  it  seemed  to  the  princess.  But  in 
the  case  of  her  own  daughters,  she  learned  by  experi- 
ence how  difficult  and  complicated  this  apparently 
simple  matter  of  getting  girls  married  really  was.  How 
many  fears  she  had  to  go  through !  How  many  things 
had  to  be  thought  over,  how  much  money  had  to  be 
lavished,  how  many  collisions  with  her  husband,  when 
the  time  came  for  Darya  and  Natali  to  be  married ! 
And  now  that  the  youngest  was  in  the  matrimonial 
market,  she  was  obliged  to  suffer  from  the  same  anxi- 


eties,  the  same  doubts,  and  even  more  bitter  quarrels 
with  her  husband. 

The  old  prince,  like  all  fathers,  was  excessively  punc- 
tilious about  everything  concerning  the  honor  and 
purity  of  his  daughters,  he  was  distressingly  jealous  re- 
garding them,  especially  Kitty,  who  was  his  favorite, 
and  at  every  step  he  accused  his  wife  of  compromising 
his  daughter.  The  princess  had  become  accustomed  to 
these  scenes  from  the  days  of  her  elder  daughters,  but 
now  she  felt  that  her  husband's  strictness  had  more 
justification.  She  saw  that  in  these  later  days  many  of 
the  practices  of  society  had  undergone  a  change,  so 
that  the  duties  of  mothers  were  becoming  more  and 
more  difficult.  She  saw  how  Kitty's  young  girl  friends 
formed  a  sort  of  clique,  went  to  races,  freely  mingled 
with  men,  went  out  driving  alone ;  that  many  of  them 
no  longer  made  courtesies ;  and,  what  was  more  serious, 
all  of  them  were  firmly  convinced  that  the  choice  of 
husbands  was  their  affair  and  not  their  parents'. 

"  Marriages  aren't  made  as  they  used  to  be,"  thought 
and  said  all  these  young  ladies,  and  even  some  of  the 
older  people. 

"  But  how  are  marriages  made  nowadays .-' "  This  ques- 
tion the  princess  could  not  get  any  one  to  answer. 

The  French  custom,  where  the  parents  decide  the 
fate  of  their  children,  was  not  accepted,  was  even  bitterly 
criticized.  The  English  custom,  which  allows  the  girls 
absolute  liberty,  was  also  not  accepted,  and  was  not  pos- 
sible in  Russian  spciety.  The  Russian  custom  of  em- 
ploying a  match-maker  was  regarded  as  bad  form ; 
every  one  ridiculed  it,  even  the  princess  herself.  But 
no  one  seemed  to  know  what  course  to  take  in  regard  to 
courtship.  Every  one  with  whom  the  princess  talked 
said  the  same  thing. 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  it  is  time  for  us  to  renounce 
those  exploded  notions;  it  is  the  young  folks,  and  not 
their  parents,  who  get  married,  and,  therefore,  it  is  for 
young  folks  to  make  their  arrangements  in  accordance 
with  their  own  ideas." 

It  was  well  enough  for  those  without  daughters  to 


say  this ;  but  the  princess  knew  well  that  in  this  familiar 
intercourse  her  daughter  might  fall  in  love,  and  fall  in 
love  with  some  one  who  would  not  dream  of  marrying 
her,  or  would  not  make  her  a  good  husband.  However 
earnestly  they  suggested  to  the  princess  that  in  our 
time  young  people  ought  to  settle  their  own  destinies, 
she  found  it  impossible  to  agree  with  them  any  more 
than  she  could  believe  in  the  advisability  of  allowing  the 
four-year-old  children  of  our  time  to  have  loaded  pistols 
as  their  favorite  toys.  And  so  the  princess  felt  much 
more  solicitude  about  Kitty  than  she  had  felt  about 
either  of  her  other  daughters. 

She  feared  now  that  Vronsky  would  content  himself 
with  playing  the  gallant.  She  saw  that  Kitty  was 
already  in  love  with  him,  but  she  consoled  herself  with 
the  thought  that  he  was  a  man  of  honor  and  would  not 
do  so ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  she  knew  how  easy  it  was, 
with  the  new  freedom  allowed  in  society,  to  turn  a  young 
girl's  head,  and  how  lightly  men  as  a  general  thing 
regarded  this. 

The  week  before  Kitty  had  told  her  mother  of  a  con- 
versation which  she  had  held  with  Vronsky  during  a 
mazurka.  This  conversation  had  partially  relieved  the 
princess's  mind,  though  it  did  not  absolutely  satisfy  her. 
Vronsky  told  Kitty  that  he  and  his  brother  were  both  so 
used  to  letting  their  mother  decide  things  for  them,  that 
they  never  undertook  anything  of  importance  without 
consulting  her. 

"  And  now  I  am  looking  for  my  mother's  arrival  from 
Petersburg  as  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune,"  he  had  said. 

Kitty  reported  these  words  without  attaching  any  im- 
portance to  them,  but  her  mother  understood  them  very 
differently.  She  knew  that  the  old  countess  was  ex- 
pected from  day  to  day  ;  she  knew  that  the  old  countess 
would  be  satisfied  with  her  son's  choice ;  and  it  was 
strange  to  her  that  he  had  not  offered  himself,  as  if  he 
feared  to  offend  his  mother.  However,  she  herself  was 
so  anxious  for  this  match,  and  above  all  for  relief  from 
her  anxieties,  that  she  gave  a  favorable  interpretation  to 
these  words.     Bitterly  as  she  felt  the  unhappiness  of  her 


oldest  daughter,  Dolly,  who  was  thinking  of  leaving  her 
husband,  agitation  regarding  the  decision  of  her  young- 
est daughter's  fate  completely  absorbed  her  thoughts. 

Levin's  arrival  to-day  gave  her  a  new  anxiety.  She 
feared  lest  her  daughter,  who,  as  she  thought,  had  at  one 
time  felt  drawn  toward  Levin,  might,  out  of  excessive 
delicacy,  refuse  Vronsky,  and  she  feared  more  than 
anything  else  that  his  arrival  would  complicate  every- 
thing and  postpone  a  long-desired  consummation. 

"  Has  he  been  here  long.''"  asked  the  princess  of  her 
daughter,  when  they  reached  home  after  their  meeting 
with  Levin. 

"Since  yesterday,  inaman." 

"  I  have  one  thing  that  I  want  to  say  to  you ...."  the 
princess  began,  and,  at  the  sight  of  her  serious  and  agi- 
tated face,  Kitty  knew  what  was  coming. 

"  Mamma,"  said  she,  blushing,  and  turning  quickly  to 
her,  "  please,  please  don't  speak  about  this.  I  know,  I 
know  all !  " 

She  wished  the  same  thing  that  her  mother  wished, 
but  the  motives  of  her  mother's  desires  were  repugnant 
to  her. 

"  I  only  wish  to  say  that  as  you  have  given  hope  to 

"  Mamma,  galnbchik}  don't  speak.  It  's  so  terrible 
to  speak  about  this." 

"  I  will  not,"  replied  her  mother,  seeing  the  tears  in 
her  daughter's  eyes ;  "  only  one  word,  moya  diisha  ^  : 
you  have  promised  to  have  no  secrets  from  me.  Have 
you  any  ? " 

"  Never,  mamma,  not  one !  "  replied  Kitty,  looking 
her  mother  full  in  the  face  and  blushing;  "but  I  have 
nothing  to  tell  now.  I ....  I ....  even  if  I  wanted  to,  I 
don't  know  what  to  say  and  how....  I  don't  know  ...." 

"  No,  with  those  eyes  she  cannot  speak  a  falsehood," 
said  the  mother  to  herself,  smiling  at  her  emotion  and 
happiness.  The  princess  smiled  to  think  how  momen- 
tous appeared  to  the  poor  girl  what  was  passing  in  her 

^  Little  dove.  ^  My  soul. 



After  dinner,  and  during  the  first  part  of  the  even- 
ing, Kitty  felt  as  a  young  man  feels  before  a  battle. 
Her  heart  beat  violently,  and  she  could  not  concentrate 
her  thoughts. 

She  felt  that  this  evening,  when  they  two  should  meet 
for  the  first  time,  would  decide  her  fate.  She  kept  see- 
ing them  in  her  imagination,  sometimes  together,  some- 
times separately.  When  she  thought  of  the  past, 
pleasure,  almost  tenderness,  filled  her  heart  at  the 
remembrance  of  her  relations  with  Levin.  The  recol- 
lections of  her  childhood  and  of  his  friendship  with 
her  departed  brother  imparted  a  certain  poetic  charm 
to  her  relations  with  him.  His  love  for  her,  of  which 
she  was  certain,  was  flattering  and  agreeable  to  her, 
and  she  found  it  easy  to  think  about  Levin.  In  her 
thoughts  about  Vronsky  there  was  something  that 
made  her  uneasy,  though  he  was  a  man  to  the  highest 
degree  polished  and  self-possessed  ;  there  seemed  to  be 
something  false,  not  in  him,  —  for  he  was  very  simple 
and  good,  —  but  in  herself,  while  all  was  clear  and 
simple  in  her  relations  with  Levin.  But  while  Vronsky 
seemed  to  offer  her  dazzling  promises  and  a  brilliant 
future,  the  future  with  Levin  seemed  enveloped  in 

When  she  went  up-stairs  to  dress  for  the  evening  and 
looked  into  the  mirror,  she  noticed  with  delight  that  she  was 
looking  her  loveliest,  and  that  she  was  in  full  possession 
of  all  her  powers,  and  what  was  most  important  on  this 
occasion,  that  she  felt  at  ease  and  entirely  self-possessed. 

At  half-past  seven,  as  she  was  going  into  the  drawing- 
room,  the  lackey  announced,  "  Konstantin  Dmitritch 
Levin."  The  princess  was  still  in  her  room  ;  the  prince 
had  not  yet  come  down.  "  It  has  come  at  last,"  thought 
Kitty,  and  all  the  blood  rushed  to  her  heart.  As  she 
glanced  into  a  mirror,  she  was  startled  to  see  how  pale 
she  looked. 

She  knew  now,  for  a  certainty,  that  he  had  come  early, 


so  as  to  find  her  alone  and  offer  himself.  And  instantly 
the  situation  appeared  to  her  for  the  first  time  in  a  new, 
strange  light.  Then  only  she  realized  that  the  question 
did  not  concern  herself  alone,  nor  who  would  make  her 
happy,  nor  whom  she  loved,  but  that  she  should  have  to 
wound  a  man  whom  she  liked,  and  to  wound  him  cruelly 
....  why,  why  was  it  that  such  a  charming  man  loved 
her .-'  Why  had  he  fallen  in  love  with  her .-'  But  it  was 
too  late  to  mend  matters ;  it  was  fated  to  be  so. 

"  Merciful  Heaven !  is  it  possible  that  I  myself  must 
tell  him,"  she  thought,  —  "I  must  tell  him  that  I  don't 
love  him }  That  is  not  true !  But  what  can  I  say .'' 
That  I  love  another.?  No,  that  is  impossible.  I  will 
run  away,  I  will  run  away  !  " 

She  had  already  reached  the  door,  when  she  heard  his 
step.  "  No,  it  is  not  honorable.  What  have  I  to  fear .? 
I  have  done  nothing  wrong.  Let  come  what  will,  I  will 
tell  the  truth !  I  shall  not  be  ill  at  ease  with  him.  Ah, 
here  he  is !  "  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  saw  his  strong 
but  timid  countenance,  with  his  brilliant  eyes  fixed  upon 
her.  She  looked  him  full  in  the  face,  with  an  air  which 
seemed  to  implore  his  protection,  and  extended  her 

"  I  am  rather  early,  too  early,  I  am  afraid,"  said  he, 
casting  a  glance  about  the  empty  room  ;  and  when  he 
saw  that  his  hope  was  fulfilled,  and  that  nothing  would 
prevent  him  from  speaking,  his  face  grew  solemn. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Kitty,  sitting  down  near  a  table. 

"  But  it  is  exactly  what  I  wanted,  so  that  I  might  find 
you  alone,"  he  began,  without  sitting,  and  without  look- 
ing at  her,  lest  he  should  lose  his  courage. 

"  Mamma  will  be  here  in  a  moment.  She  was  very 
tired  to-day.     To-day ....  " 

She  spoke  without  knowing  what  her  lips  said,  and 
did  not  take  her  imploring  and  gentle  gaze  from  his 

Levin  gazed  at  her ;  she  blushed,  and  stopped  speak- 

"  I  told  you  to-day  that  I  did  not  know  how  long  I 
should  stay ....  that  it  depended  on  you  ....  " 


Kitty  drooped  her  head  lower  and  lower,  not  know- 
ing how  she  should  reply  to  the  words  that  he  was  going 
to  speak. 

"That  it  depended  upon  you,"  he  repeated.  "I 
meant ....  I  meant ....  I  came  for  this,  that ....  be  my  wife," 
he  murmured,  not  knowing  what  he  had  said ;  but,  feel- 
ing that  he  had  got  through  the  worst  of  the  difficulty, 
he  stopped  and  looked  at  her. 

She  felt  almost  suffocated ;  she  did  not  raise  her  head. 
She  felt  a  sort  of  ecstasy.  Her  heart  was  full  of  happi- 
ness. Never  could  she  have  believed  that  the  declara- 
tion of  his  love  would  make  such  a  deep  impression 
upon  her.  But  this  impression  lasted  only  a  moment. 
She  remembered  Vronsky.  She  raised  her  sincere  and 
liquid  eyes  to  Levin,  and,  seeing  his  agitated  face,  said 
hastily :  — 

"  This  cannot  be  ! ....     Forgive  me  !  " 

How  near  to  him,  a  moment  since,  she  had  been,  and 
how  necessary  to  his  life !  and  now  how  far  away  and 
strange  she  suddenly  seemed  to  be ! 

"  It  could  not  have  been  otherwise,"  he  said,  without 
looking  at  her. 

He  bowed  and  was  about  to  leave  the  room. 


At  this  instant  the  princess  entered.  Apprehension 
was  pictured  on  her  face  when  she  saw  their  agitated 
faces  and  that  they  had  been  alone.  Levin  bowed  low, 
and  did  not  speak.  Kitty  was  silent,  and  did  not  raise 
her  eyes.  "  Thank  God,  she  has  refused  him  !  "  thought 
the  mother ;  and  her  face  lighted  up  with  the  smile  with 
which  she  always  received  her  Thursday  guests.  She 
sat  down,  and  began  to  ask  Levin  questions  about  his 
life  in  the  country.  He  also  sat  down,  hoping  to  escape 
unobserved  when  the  guests  began  to  arrive. 

Five  minutes  later,  one  of  Kitty's  friends,  who  had 
been  married  the  winter  before,  was  announced,  —  the 


Countess  Nordstone.  She  was  a  dried-up,  sallow,  ner- 
vous, sickly  woman,  with  brilliant  black  eyes.  She  was 
fond  of  Kitty,  and  her  affection,  like  that  of  every  mar- 
ried woman  for  a  young  girl,  was  expressed  by  a  keen 
desire  to  have  her  married  in  accordance  with  her  own 
ideal  of  conjugal  happiness.  She  wanted  to  marry  her 
to  Vronsky.  Levin,  whom  she  had  often  met  at  the 
Shcherbatskys'  the  first  of  the  winter,  was  always  dis- 
tasteful to  her,  and  her  favorite  occupation,  after  she 
had  met  him  in  society,  was  to  make  sport  of  him. 

"I  am  enchanted,"  she  said,  "when  he  looks  down 
on  me  from  his  loftiness ;  either  he  fails  to  honor  me 
with  his  learned  conversation  because  I  am  too  silly 
for  him,  or  else  he  treats  me  condescendingly.  I  like 
this ;  condescending  to  me !  I  am  very  glad  that  he 
cannot  endure  me." 

She  was  right,  because  the  fact  was  that  Levin  could 
not  endure  her,  and  he  despised  her  for  being  proud  of 
what  she  regarded  as  a  merit,  —  her  nervous  tempera- 
ment, her  indifference  and  delicate  scorn  for  all  that 
seemed  to  her  gross  and  material. 

The  relationship  between  Levin  and  the  Countess 
Nordstone  was  such  as  is  often  met  with  in  society 
where  two  persons,  friends  in  outward  appearance, 
despise  each  other  to  such  a  degree  that  they  cannot 
hold  a  serious  conversation,  or  even  clash  with  each 

The  Countess  Nordstone  instantly  addressed  herself 
to  Levin :  — 

"  Ah,  Konstantin  Dmitrievitch  !  are  you  back  again 
in  our  abominable  Babylon  ? "  said  she,  giving  him  her 
little  yellow  hand,  and  recalling  his  owit  words  at  the 
beginning  of  the  winter  when  he  said  Moscow  was  a 
Babylon.  "Is  Babylon  converted,  or  have  you  been 
corrupted  ?  "  she  added,  with  a  mocking  smile  in  Kitty's 

"  I  am  greatly  flattered,  countess,  that  you  remember 
my  words  so  well,"  replied  Levin,  who,  having  had  time 
to  collect  his  thoughts,  instantly  entered  into  the  face- 
tiously hostile  tone  peculiar  to  his  relations  with   the 


Countess  Nordstone.  "  It  seems  that  they  have  made 
a  very  deep  impression  on  you." 

"  Akh  !  how  so  ?  But  I  always  make  notes.  Well ! 
how  is  it,  Kitty,  have  you  been  skating  to-day.?".... 

And  she  began  to  talk  with  her  young  friend. 

Awkward  as  it  was  in  him  to  take  his  departure  now, 
Levin  preferred  to  commit  this  breach  of  etiquette 
rather  than  remain  through  the  evening,  and  to  see 
Kitty,  who  occasionally  looked  at  him,  though  she 
avoided  his  eyes.  He  attempted  to  get  up;  but  the 
princess,  noticing  that  he  had  nothing  to  say,  addressed 
him  directly :  — 

"  Do  you  intend  to  remain  long  in  Moscow }  You 
are  justice  of  the  peace  in  your  district,  are  you  not? 
and  I  suppose  that  will  prevent  you  from  making  a 
long  stay." 

"No,  princess,  I  have  resigned  that  office,"  he, said. 
"  I  have  come  to  stay  several  days." 

"  Something  has  happened  to  him,"  thought  the 
Countess  Nordstone,  as  she  saw  Levin's  stern  and  seri- 
ous face,  "  because  he  does  not  launch  out  into  his  usual 
tirades ;  but  I  '11  soon  draw  him  out.  Nothing  amuses 
me  more  than  to  make  him  ridiculous  before  Kitty,  and 
I  '11  do  it." 

"  Konstantin  Dmitritch,"  she  said  to  him,  "explain 
to  me,  please,  what  this  means,  for  you  know  all  about 
it :  at  our  estate  in  Kaluga  all  the  muzhiks  and  their 
wives  have  drunk  up  everything  they  had,  and  don't 
pay  what  they  owe  us.  You  are  always  praising  the 
muzhiks  ;  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

At  this  moment  another  lady  came  in,  and  Levin  arose. 

"  Excuse  me,  countess,  I  know  nothing  at  all  about 
it,  and  I  cannot  answer  your  question,"  said  he,  look- 
ing at  an  officer  who  entered  at  the  same  time  with  the 

"  That  must  be  Vronsky,"  he  thought,  and  to  confirm 
his  surmise  he  glanced  at  Kitty.  She  had  already  had 
time  to  perceive  Vronsky,  and  she  was  looking  at  Levin. 
When  he  saw  the  young  girl's  involuntarily  brightening 
eyes,  Levin  saw  that  she  loved  that  man,  he  saw  it  as 

VOL.  I.  —  s 


clearly  as  if  she  herself  had  confessed  it  to  him.  But 
what  sort  of  a  man  was  he  ? 

Now  —  whether  it  was  wise  or  foolish  —  Levin  could 
not  help  remaining ;  he  must  find  out  for  himself  what 
sort  of  a  man  it  was  that  she  loved. 

There  are  men  who,  on  meeting  a  fortunate  rival,  are 
immediately  disposed  to  deny  that  there  is  any  good  in 
him  and  see  only  evil  in  him  ;  others,  on  the  contrary, 
endeavor  to  discover  nothing  but  the  merits  that  have 
won  him  his  success,  and  with  sore  hearts  to  attribute 
to  him  nothing  but  good.  Levin  belonged  to  the  latter 
class.  It  was  not  hard  for  him  to  discover  what  amiable 
and  attractive  qualities  Vronsky  possessed.  They  were 
apparent  at  a  glance.  He  was  dark,  of  medium  stature, 
and  well  proportioned ;  his  face  was  handsome,  calm, 
and  friendly ;  everything  about  his  person,  from  his 
black,  short-cut  hair,  and  his  freshly  shaven  chin,  to  his 
new,  well-fitting  uniform,  was  simple  and  perfectly  ele- 
gant. Vronsky  allowed  the  lady  to  pass  before  him, 
then  he  approached  the  princess,  and  finally  came  to 
Kitty.  As  he  drew  near  her,  his  beautiful  eyes  shone 
with  deeper  tenderness,  and  with  a  smile  expressive  of 
joy  mingled  with  triumph,  —  so  it  seemed  to  Levin,  — 
he  bowed  respectfully  and  with  dignity  and  offered  her 
his  small,  wide  hand.  After  greeting  them  all  and  speak- 
ing a  few  words,  he  sat  down  without  having  seen  Levin, 
who  never  once  took  his  eyes  from  him. 

"  Allow  me  to  make  you  acquainted,"  said  the  prin- 
cess, turning  to  Levin  :  "  Konstantin  Dmitrievitch  Levin, 
Count  Alekseif  Kirillovitch  Vronsky." 

Vronsky  arose,  and,  with  a  friendly  look  into  Levin's 
eyes,  shook  hands  with  him. 

"  It  seems,"  said  he,  with  his  frank  and  pleasant 
smile,  "  that  I  was  to  have  had  the  honor  of  dining  with 
you  this  winter ;  but  you  went  off  unexpectedly  to  the 

"  Konstantin  Dmitritch  despises  and  shuns  the  city, 
and  us,  its  denizens,"  said  the  Countess  Nordstone. 

"  It  must  be  that  my  words  impress  you  deeply,  since 
you  remember  them  so  well,"  said  Levin;  and,  perceiv- 



ing  that  he  had  already  made  this  remark,  he  grew  red 
in  the  face. 

Vronsky  looked  at  Levin  and  the  countess,  and  smiled. 

"  So,  then,  you  always  live  in  the  country  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  should  think  it  would  be  tiresome  in  winter." 

"  Not  if  one  has  enough  to  do  ;  besides,  one  does  not 
get  tired  of  himself,"  said  Levin,  sharply. 

"I  like  the  country,"  said  Vronsky,  noticing  Levin's 
tone  and  appearing  not  to  notice  it. 

"  But,  count,  I  hope  you  would  not  consent  to  live 
always  in  the  country,"  said  the  Countess  Nordstone. 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  never  made  a  long  stay,  but  I  once 
felt  a  strange  sensation,"  he  added.  "  Never  have  I  so 
eagerly  longed  for  the  country,  the  real  Russian  country 
with  its  bast  shoes  and  its  muzhiks,  as  during  the  winter 
that  I  spent  at  Nice  with  my  mother.  Nice,  you  know, 
is  melancholy  anyway  ;  and  Naples,  Sorrento,  are  pleas- 
ant only  for  a  short  time.  There  it  is  that  one  remembers 
Russia  most  tenderly,  and  especially  the  country.  They 
are  almost  as  ....  " 

He  spoke,  now  addressing  Kitty,  now  Levin,  turning 
his  calm  and  friendly  eyes  from  one  to  the  other,  and  he 
evidently  said  whatever  came  into  his  head. 

Noticing  that  the  Countess  Nordstone  wanted  to  say 
something,  he  stopped,  without  finishing  his  phrase,  and 
began  to  listen  to  her  attentively. 

The  conversation  did  not  languish  a  single  instant,  so 
that  the  old  princess,  who  always  had  in  reserve  two 
heavy  guns,  in  case  there  needed  to  be  a  change  in  the 
conversation,  —  namely,  classic  and  scientific  education, 
and  the  general  compulsory  conscription,  —  had  no  need 
to  bring  them  out,  and  the  Countess  Nordstone  did  not 
even  have  a  chance  to  rally  Levin. 

Levin  wanted  to  join  in  the  general  conversation,  but 
was  unable.  He  kept  saying  to  himself,  "  Now,  I  '11 
go ;  "  and  still  he  waited  as  if  he  expected  something. 

The  conversation  turned  on  table-tipping  and  spirits ; 
and  the  Countess  Nordstone,  who  was  a  believer  in 
spiritism,  began  to  relate  the  marvels  that  she  had 


"  Akh,  countess !  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  take  me  to 
see  them.  I  never  yet  saw  anything  extraordinary, 
anxious  as  I  have  always  been,"  said  Vronsky,  smiling. 

"  Good  ;  next  Saturday,"  replied  the  countess.  "  But 
you,  Konstantin  Dmitritch,  do  you  believe  in  it ,'' "  she 
asked  of  Levin. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  You  know  perfectly  well"  what 
I  shall  say." 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  hear  your  opinion." 

"  My  opinion  is  simply  this,"  replied  Levin  :  "  that 
table-tipping  proves  that  so-called  cultivated  society  is 
scarcely  more  advanced  than  the  muzhiks ;  they  believe 
in  the  evil  eye,  in  casting  lots,  in  sorceries,  while  we ....  " 

"That  means  that  you  don't  believe  in  it.'' " 

"  I  cannot  believe  in  it,  countess." 

"  But  if  I  myself  have  seen  these  things  ?  " 

"  The  peasant  women  also  say  that  they  have  seen  the 
Do  mo  VOL  ^ 

"Then,  you  think  that  I  do  not  tell  the  truth.?" 

And  she  broke  into  an  unpleasant  laugh. 

"  But  no,  Masha.  Konstantin  Dmitritch  simply  says 
that  he  cannot  believe  in  spiritism,"  said  Kitty,  blushing 
for  Levin ;  and  Levin  understood  her,  and,  growing  still 
more  irritated,  was  about  to  reply;  but  Vronsky  instantly 
came  to  the  rescue,  and  with  a  gentle  smile  brought 
back  the  conversation,  which  threatened  to  go  beyond 
the  bounds  of  politeness. 

"  Do  not  you  admit  at  all  the  possibility  of  its  being 
true.?"  he  asked.  "Why  not.?  We  willingly  admit  the 
existence  of  electricity,  which  we  do  not  understand. 
Why  should  there  not  exist  a  new  force,  as  yet  unknown, 

"  When  electricity  was  discovered,"  interrupted  Levin, 
eagerly,  "only  its  phenomena  had  been  seen,  and  it  was 
not  known  what  produced  them,  or  whence  they  arose; 
and  centuries  passed  before  people  dreamed  of  making 
application  of  it.     Spiritualists,  on  the  other  hand,  have 

^  The  Domovol  is  the  house-spirit,  like  the  latin  lar,  who  lives  behind 
the  stove,  and  when  propitiated  by  cream  and  colored  eggs  is  beneficent, 
but  if  offended  may  play  disagreeable  tricks.  —  Tr. 


begun  by  making  tables  write,  and  by  summoning  spirits 
to  them,  and  it  is  only  afterward  they  began  to  say  it  is 
an  unknown  force." 

Vronsky  listened  attentively,  as  he  always  listened,  and 
was  evidently  interested  in  Levin's  words. 

"  Yes;  but  the  spiritualists  say,  '  We  do  not  yet  know 
what  this  force  is,  but  it  is  a  force,  and  acts  under  certain 
conditions.'  Let  the  scientists  find  out  what  it  is.  I 
don't  see  why  it  may  not  be  a  new  force  if  it.... " 

"Because,"  interrupted  Levin  again,  "every  time  you 
rub  resin  with  wool,  you  produce  a  certain  and  invariable 
electrical  phenomenon ;  while  spiritism  brings  no  such 
invariable  result,  and  so  it  cannot  be  a  natural  phe- 

Vronsky,  evidently  perceiving  that  the  conversation 
was  growing  too  serious  for  a  reception,  made  no  reply ; 
and,  in  order  to  make  a  diversion,  smiled  gayly,  and  ad- 
dressing the  ladies  said  :  — 

"  Countess,  let  us  make  the  experiment  now  ?  " 

But  Levin  wanted  to  finish  saying  what  was  in  his 
mind :  — 

"  I  think,"  he  continued,  "  that  the  attempts  made  by 
spiritual  mediums  to  explain  their  miracles  by  a  new 
force  is  most  abortive.  They  claim  that  it  is  a  super- 
natural force,  and  yet  they  want  to  submit  it  to  a  material 

All  were  waiting  for  him  to  come  to  an  end,  and  he 
felt  it. 

"  And  I  think  that  you  would  be  a  capital  medium," 
said  the  Countess  Nordstone.  "  There  is  something  so 
enthusiastic  about  you  !  " 

Levin  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  he  said  nothing, 
and  turned  red. 

"  Come,  let  us  give  the  tables  a  trial,"  said  Vronsky ; 
"with  your  permission,  princess."  And  Vronsky  rose, 
and  looked  for  a  small  table. 

Kitty  was  standing  by  a  table,  and  her  eyes  met 
Levin's.  Her  whole  soul  pitied  him,  because  she  felt 
that  she  was  the  cause  of  his  pain.  Her  look  said, 
"  Forgive  me,  if  you  can,  I  am  so  happy." 


And  his  look  replied,  "  I  hate  the  whole  world,  —  you 
and  myself."     And  he  took  up  his  hat. 

But  it  was  not  his  fate  to  go.  The  guests  were  just 
taking  their  places  around  the  table,  and  he  was  on  the 
point  of  starting,  when  the  old  prince  entered,  and,  after 
greeting  the  ladies,  went  straight  to  Levin. 

"  Ah!  "  he  cried  joyfully.  "  What  a  stranger !  I  did 
not  know  that  you  were  here.     Very  glad  to  see  you  !  " 

In  speaking  to  Levin  the  prince  sometimes  used  the 
familiar  tiii,  thou,  and  sometimes  the  formal  vuiy  you. 
He  took  him  by  the  arm,  and,  while  conversing  with  him, 
gave  no  notice  to  Vronsky,  who  stood  waiting  patiently 
for  the  prince  to  speak  to  him. 

Kitty  felt  that  her  father's  friendliness  must  be  hard 
for  Levin  after  what  had  happened.  She  also  noticed 
how  coldly  her  father  at  last  acknowledged  Vronsky's 
bow,  and  how  Vronsky  looked  at  her  father,  with  good- 
humored  perplexity  striving  in  vain  to  make  out  what 
this  icy  reception  meant,  and  she  blushed. 

"  Prince,  let  us  have  Konstantin  Dmitritch,"  said  the 
Countess  Nordstone.     "  We  want  to  try  an  experiment." 

"What  sort  of  an  experiment.'^  table-tipping.?  Well! 
excuse  me,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  but,  in  my  opinion, 
grace-hoops^  would  be  a  better  game,"  said  the  prince, 
looking  at  Vronsky,  whom  he  took  to  be  the  originator 
of  this  sport.  "  At  least  there's  some  sense  in  grace- 

Vronsky,  astonished,  turned  his  steady  eyes  upon  the 
old  prince,  and,  slightly  smiling,  began  to  talk  with  the 
Countess  Nordstone  about  the  arrangements  for  a  great 
ball  to  be  given  the  following  week. 

"  I  hope  that  you  will  be  there,"  said  he,  turning  to 

As  soon  as  the  old  prince  turned  from  him  Levin 
made  his  escape;  and  the  last  impression  which  he  bore 
away  from  this  reception  was  Kitty's  happy,  smiling 
face,  answering  Vronsky's  question  in  regard  to  the 

1  Kaletchki. 



After  the  guests  had  gone,  Kitty  told  her  mother  of 
her  conversation  with  Levin;  and,  in  spite  of  all  the 
pain  that  she  had  caused  him,  the  thought  that  he  had 
asked  her  to  marry  him  flattered  her.  She  had  no 
doubt  that  she  had  acted  properly,  but  it  was  long  be- 
fore she  could  go  to  sleep.  One  memory  constantly 
arose  in  her  mind:  it  was  Levin's  face  as,  with  con- 
tracted brow,  he  stood  listening  to  her  father,  looking 
at  her  and  Vronsky  with  his  gloomy,  melancholy,  kind 
eyes.  She  felt  so  sorry  for  him  that  she  could  not  keep 
back  the  tears.  But,  as  she  thought  of  him  who  had 
replaced  Levin  in  her  regards,  she  saw  vividly  his 
handsome,  strong,  and  manly  face,  his  aristocratic  self- 
possession,  his  universal  kindness  to  every  one;  she  re- 
called his  love  for  her,  and  how  she  loved  him,  and  joy 
came  back  to  her  heart.  She  laid  her  head  on  the  pil- 
low, and  smiled  with  happiness. 

"  It  is  too  bad,  too  bad;  but  what  can  I  do."*  It  is  not 
my  fault,"  she  said  to  herself,  although  an  inward  voice 
whispered  the  contrary.  She  did  not  know  whether  she 
ought  to  reproach  herself  for  having  been  attracted  to 
Levin,  or  for  having  refused  him;  but  her  happiness 
was  not  alloyed  with  doubts.  "  Lord,  have  mercy  upon 
me!  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  me!  Lord,  have  mercy 
upon  me!  "   she  repeated  until  she  went  to  sleep. 

Meantime,  down-stairs,  in  the  prince's  little  library, 
there  was  going  on  one  of  those  scenes  which  fre- 
quently occurred  between  the  parents  in  regard  to  their 
favorite  daughter. 

"What.''  This  is  what!"  cried  the  prince,  waving  his 
arms  and  immediately  wrapping  around  him  his  squirrel- 
skin  khalat.  "You  have  neither  pride  nor  dignity;  you 
are  ruining  your  daughter  with  this  low  and  ridiculous 
manner  of  husband-hunting." 

"  But  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  prince,  what  have  I 
done?  "   said  the  princess,  almost  ready  to  cry. 


She  had  come  as  usual  to  say  good-night  to  her  hus- 
band, feeling  very  happy  and  satisfied  over  her  con- 
versation with  her  daughter ;  and,  though  she  had  not 
ventured  to  breathe  a  word  of  Levin's  proposal  and 
Kitty's  rejection  of  him,  she  allowed  herself  to  hint  to 
her  husband  that  she  thought  the  affair  with  Vronsky 
was  settled,  that  it  would  be  decided  as  soon  as  the 
countess  should  arrive.  At  these  words  the  prince  had 
fallen  into  a  passion,  and  had  addressed  her  with  un- 
pleasant reproaches: — ■ 

"What  have  you  done?  This  is  what:  In  the  first 
place  you  have  decoyed  a  husband  for  her;  and  all 
Moscow  will  say  so,  and  with  justice.  If  you  want  to 
give  receptions,  give  them,  by  all  means,  but  invite 
every  one,  and  not  suitors  of  your  own  choice.  Invite 
all  these  mashers,"  —  thus  the  prince  called  the  young 
men  of  Moscow,  —  "have  somebody  to  play  and  let  'em 
dance;  but  not  like  to-night,  inviting  only  suitors!  It 
seems  to  me  shameful,  shameful,  the  way  you've  pushed ! 
You  have  turned  the  girl's  head.  Levin  is  a  thousand 
times  the  better  man.  And  as  to  this  Petersburg  dandy, 
he  's  one  of  those  turned  out  by  machinery,  they  are  all 
on  one  pattern,  and  all  trash!  My  daughter  has  no 
need  of  going  out  of  her  way,  even  for  a  prince  of  the 

"  But  what  have  I  done  ?  " 

"Why,  this....  "  cried  the  prince,  angrily. 

"  I  know  well  enough  that,  if  I  listen  to  you,"  inter- 
rupted the  princess,  "  we  shall  never  see  our  daughter 
married;  and,  in  that  case,  we  might  just  as  well  go 
into  the  country." 

"We'd  better  go!" 

"  Now  wait !  Have  I  made  any  advances  ?  No,  I 
have  not.  But  a  young  man,  and  a  very  handsome 
young  man,  is  in  love  with  her;  and  she,  it  seems...." 

"  Yes,  so  it  seems  to  you.  But  suppose  she  should 
be  in  love  with  him,  and  he  have  as  much  intention 
of  getting  married  as  I  myself .''  Okh !  Have  n't  I 
eyes  to  see  .-•  '  Akh,  spiritism !  akh,  Nice !  akh,  the 
ball ! '  "  ....  Here  the  prince,  attempting  to   imitate  his 


wife,  made  a  courtesy  at  every  word.  "  We  shall  be 
very  proud  when  we  have  made  our  Kationka  unhappy, 
and  when  she  really  takes  it  into  her  head..,." 

"  But  what  makes  you  think  so  .''  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,  I  know  so ;  and  that 's  why  we 
have  eyes,  and  you  mothers  have  n't.  I  see  a  man 
who  has  serious  intentions,  —  Levin ;  and  I  see  a  fine 
bird,  like  this  good-for-nothing,  who  is  merely  amusing 

"  Well !  now  you  have  taken  it  into  your  head  ....  " 

"  You  will  remember  what  I  have  said,  but  too  late, 
as  you  did  with  Dashenka." 

•'  Very  well,  very  well,  we  will  not  say  anything  more 
about  it,"  said  the  princess,  who  was  cut  short  by  the 
remembrance  of  Dolly's  unhappiness. 

"  So  much  the  better,  and  good-night." 

The  husband  and  wife,  as  they  separated,  kissed 
each  other  good-night,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
but  with  the  consciousness  that  each  remained  un- 
changed in  opinion. 

The  princess  had  at  first  been  firmly  convinced  that 
Kitty's  fate  was  decided  by  the  events  of  the  evening, 
and  that  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  Vronsky's  designs ; 
but  her  husband's  words  troubled  her.  On  her  return 
to  her  room,  as  she  thought  in  terror  of  the  unknown 
future,  she  did  just  as  Kitty  had  done,  and  prayed  from 
the  bottom  of  her  heart,  "  Lord,  have  mercy !  Lord, 
have  mercy !     Lord,  have  mercy !  " 


Vronsky  had  never  known  anything  of  family  life. 
His  mother,  in  her  youth,  had  been  a  very  brilliant 
society  woman,  who,  in  her  husband's  lifetime  and 
after  his  death,  had  engaged  in  many  love-affairs  that 
had  made  talk.  Vronsky  scarcely  remembered  his  father, 
and  he  had  been  educated  in  the  School  of  Pages. 

Graduating  very  young  and  with  brilliancy  as  an 
officer,  he  immediately  began  to  follow  the  course  of 


wealthy  militar}'^  men  of  Petersburg.  Though  he  oc- 
casionally went  into  general  society,  all  his  love-affairs 
were  with  a  different  class. 

At  Moscow,  after  the  luxurious,  dissipated  life  of 
Petersburg,  he  for  the  first  time  felt  the  charm  of 
familiar  intercourse  with  a  lovely,  innocent  society 
girl,  who  was  evidently  in  love  with  him.  It  never 
occurred  to  him  that  there  might  be  anything  wrong 
in  his  relations  with  Kitty.  At  balls  he  preferred  to 
dance  with  her,  he  called  on  her,  talked  with  her  as 
people  generally  talk  in  society :  all  sorts  of  trifles, 
but  trifles  to  which  he  involuntarily  attributed  a  differ- 
ent meaning  when  spoken  to  her.  Although  he  never 
said  anything  to  her  which  he  would  not  have  said  in 
the  hearing  of  others,  he  was  conscious  that  she  kept 
growing  more  and  more  dependent  on  him ;  and,  the 
more  he  felt  this  consciousness,  the  pleasanter  it  was 
to  him,  and  his  feeling  toward  her  grew  warmer  and 
warmer.  He  did  not  know  that  his  behavior  toward 
Kitty  had  a  definite  name,  that  this  way  of  leading 
on  young  girls  without  any  intention  of  marriage  is 
one  of  the  most  dishonorable  tricks  practised  among 
the  members  of  the  brilliant  circles  of  society  in  which 
he  moved.  He  simply  imagined  that  he  had  discovered 
a  new  pleasure,  and  he  enjoyed  his  discovery. 

Could  he  have  heard  the  conversation  between  Kitty's 
parents  that  evening,  could  he  have  taken  the  family 
point  of  view  and  realized  that  Kitty  would  be  made 
unhappy  if  he  did  not  propose  to  her,  he  would  have 
been  amazed  and  would  not  have  believed  it.  He 
would  not  have  believed  that  what  gave  him  and  her 
such  a  great  delight  could  be  wrong,  still  less  that  it 
brought  any  obligation  to  marry. 

He  had  never  considered  the  possibility  of  his  getting 
married.  Not  only  was  family  life  distasteful  to  him, 
but,  from  his  view  as  a  bachelor,  the  family,  and  espe- 
cially the  husband,  belonged  to  a  strange,  hostile,  and, 
worst  of  all,  ridiculous  world.  But  though  Vronsky  had 
not  the  slightest  suspicion  of  the  conversation  of  which 
he  had  been  the  subject,  he  left  the  Shcherbatskys'  with 


the  feeling  that  the  mysterious  bond  that  attached  him 
to  Kitty  was  closer  than  ever,  so  close,  indeed,  that  he 
felt  that  he  must  do  something.  But  what  he  ought 
to  do  or  could  do  he  could  not  imagine. 

"  How  charming !  "  he  thought,  as  he  went  to  his 
rooms,  feeling,  as  he  always  felt  when  he  left  the 
Shcherbatskys',  a  deep  impression  of  purity  and  fresh- 
ness, arising  partly  from  the  fact  that  he  had  not 
smoked  all  the  evening,  and  a  new  sensation  of  ten- 
derness caused  by  her  love  for  him.  "  How  charming 
that,  without  either  of  us  saying  anything,  we  under- 
stand each  other  so  perfectly  through  this  mute  lan- 
guage of  glances  and  tones,  so  that  to-day  more  than 
ever  before  she  told  me  that  she  loves  me !  And  how 
lovely,  natural,  and,  above  all,  confidential,  she  was ! 
I  feel  that  I  myself  am  better,  purer.  I  feel  that  I 
have  a  heart,  and  that  there  is  something  good  in  me. 
Those  gentle,  lovely  eyes !  When  she  said....  Well! 
what  did  she  say  ? ....  Nothing  much,  but  it  was  pleas- 
ant for  me,  and  pleasant  for  her." 

And  he  reflected  how  he  could  best  finish  up  the 
evening.  He  passed  in  review  the  places  where  he 
might  go :  "  The  '  club,'  a  hand  of  bezique  and  some 
champagne  with  Ignatof  .-'  No,  not  there.  The  Chateau 
des  Fleurs,  to  find  Oblonsky,  songs,  and  the  cancan  f 
No,  it 's  a  bore.  And  this  is  just  why  I  like  the  Shcher- 
batskys, —  because  I  feel  better  for  having  been  there. 
I  '11  go  home  !  " 

He  went  to  his  room  at  Dusseaux's,  ordered  supper, 
and  then,  having  undressed,  he  had  scarcely  touched  his 
head  to  the  pillow  before  he  was  sound  asleep. 


The  next  morning,  about  eleven  o'clock,  Vronsky  went 
to  the  station  to  meet  his  mother  on  the  Petersburg  train  ; 
and  the  first  person  he  saw  on  the  grand  staircase  was 
Oblonsky,  who  was  expecting  his  sister  on  the  same 


"  Ah !  your  excellency,"  cried  Oblonsky,  "  are  you 
expecting  some  one  ?  " 

"  My  matushka,"  replied  Vronsky,  with  the  smile  with 
which  people  always  met  Oblonsky.  And,  after  shak- 
ing hands,  they  mounted  the  staircase  side  by  side. 
"  She  was  to  come  from  Petersburg  to-day." 

"  I  waited  for  you  till  two  o'clock  this  morning. 
Where  did  you  go  after  leaving  the  Shcherbatskys' .'' " 

"Home,"  replied  Vronsky.  "To  tell  the  truth,  after 
such  a  pleasant  evening  at  the  Shcherbatskys',  I  did  not 
feel  like  going  anywhere." 

"  I  know  fiery  horses  by  their  brand,  and  young  people 
who  are  in  love  by  their  eyes,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch, 
in  the  same  dramatic  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken  to 
Levin  the  afternoon  before. 

Vronsky  smiled,  as  much  as  to  say  that  he  did  not 
deny  it ;  but  he  hastened  to  change  the  conversation. 

"  And  whom  have  you  to  meet  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I .''  a  very  pretty  woman,"  said  Oblonsky. 

"Ah!  indeed!" 

"  Ifom  soit  qui  inal y  pense  !     My  sister  Anna  !  " 

"  Akh  !  Madame  Karenina !  "  exclaimed  Vronsky. 

"  Do  you  know  her,  then  .-' " 

"It  seems  to  me  that  I  do.  Or,  no....  the  truth  is,  I 
don't  think  I  do,"  replied  Vronsky,  somewhat  confused. 
The  name  Karenin  dimly  brought  to  his  mind  a  tiresome 
and  conceited  person. 

"  But  Aleksei'  Aleksandrovitch,  my  celebrated  brother- 
in-law,  you  must  know  him !     Every  one  knows  him." 

"  That  is,  I  know  him  by  reputation,  and  by  sight.  I 
know  that  he  is  talented,  learned,  and  rather  adorable 
....but  you  know  that  he  is  no\.....not  in  my  line"  said 
Vronsky  in  English. 

"  Yes ;  he  is  a  very  remarkable  man,  somewhat  con- 
servative, but  a  splendid  man,"  replied  Stepan  Arkadye- 
vitch.    "  A  splendid  man." 

"Well!  so  much  the  better  for  him,"  said  Vronsky, 
smiling.  "Ah!  here  you  are,"  he  cried,  seeing  his 
mother's  old  lackey  standing  at  the  door.  "  Come  this 
way,"  he  added. 


Vronsky,  besides  experiencing  the  pleasure  that  every- 
body felt  in  seeing  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  had  felt  espe- 
cially drawn  to  him,  because,  in  a  certain  way,  it  brought 
him  closer  to  Kitty. 

"  Well,  now,  what  do  you  say  to  giving  the  diva  a 
supper  Sunday  ? "  said  he,  with  a  smile,  taking  him  by 
the  arm. 

"  Certainly ;  I  will  pay  my  share.  Oh,  tell  me,  did 
you  meet  my  friend  Levin  last  evening  ? "  asked  Stepan 

"  Yes,  but  he  went  away  very  early." 

"  He  is  a  glorious  young  fellow,"  said  Oblonsky,  "  is  n't 
he  ? " 

"I  don't  know  why  it  is,"  replied  Vronsky,  "but  all 
the  Muscovites,  present  company  excepted,"  he  added 
jestingly,  "  have  something  sharp  about  them.  They 
all  seem  to  be  high-strung,  fiery  tempered,  as  if  they  all 
wanted  to  make  you  understand ....  " 

"That  is  true  enough;  there  is...."  replied  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch,  smiling  pleasantly. 

"Is  the  train  on  time  ? "  asked  Vronsky  of  an  em- 

"  It  will  be  here  directly,"  replied  the  employee. 

The  increasing  bustle  in  the  station,  the  coming  and 
going  of  porters,  the  appearance  of  policemen  and  offi- 
cials, the  arrival  of  expectant  friends,  all  indicated  the 
approach  of  the  train.  Through  the  frosty  steam,  work- 
men could  be  seen  passing  in  their  soft  blouses  and  felt 
boots  amid  the  network  of  rails.  The  whistle  of  the 
coming  engine  was  heard,  and  the  approach  of  some- 
thing heavy. 

"  No,"  continued  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  who  was  anx- 
ious to  inform  Vronsky  of  Levin's  intentions  in  regard 
to  Kitty.  "  No,  you  are  really  unjust  to  my  friend  Levin. 
He  is  a  very  nervous  man,  and  sometimes  he  can  be  dis- 
agreeable ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  can  be  very  charm- 
ing. He  is  such  an  upright,  genuine  nature,  true  gold ! 
Last  evening  there  were  special  reasons,"  continued 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  with  a  significant  smile,  and  en- 
tirely forgetting  his  genuine  sympathy,  which  the  even- 


ing  before  he  had  felt  for  his  old  friend,  and  now 
experiencing  the  same  sympathy  for  Vronsky.  "  Yes, 
there  was  a  reason  why  he  should  have  been  either 
very  happy  or  very  unhappy." 

Vronsky  stopped  short,  and  asked  point-blank :  — 

"  What  was  it  ?  Do  you  mean  that  he  proposed  yes- 
terday evening  to  your  sister-in-law  ?  " 

"  Possibly,"  replied  Stepan  Arkadyevitch.  "  Something 
like  that  seemed  probable  last  evening.  Yes,  if  he 
went  off  so  early,  and  was  in  such  bad  spirits,  then  it 

is  so He  has  been  in  love  with  her  for  so  long,  and 

I  am  very  sorry  for  him." 

"  Ah,  indeed ! ....  I  thought  that  she  might,  however, 
have  aspirations  for  a  better  match,"  said  Vronsky,  and, 
filling  out  his  chest,  he  began  to  walk  up  and  down  again. 
Then  he  added :  "  However,  I  don't  know  him ;  yes, 
this  promises  to  be  a  painful  situation.  That  is  why  the 
majority  of  men  prefer  to  consort  with  their  Claras. 
There,  lack  of  success  shows  that  you  have  n't  money 
enough ;  but  here  you  stand  on  your  own  merits.  But 
here  is  the  train." 

In  fact,  the  engine  was  now  whistling  some  distance 
away.  But  in  a  few  minutes  the  platform  shook,  and 
the  locomotive,  puffing  out  the  steam  condensed  by  the 
cold  air,  came  rolling  into  the  station,  with  the  lever 
of  the  central  wheel  slowly  and  rhythmically  rising  and 
falling,  and  the  engineer  well  muffled  and  covered  with 
frost.  Next  the  tender  came  the  baggage-car,  still  more 
violently  shaking  the  platform ;  a  dog  in  its  cage  was 
yelping  piteously ;  finally  appeared  the  passenger-cars, 
which  jolted  together  as  the  train  came  to  a  stop. 

The  vigorous-looking  conductor  sprang  down  from  the 
car  and  whistled ;  and  behind  him  came  the  more  impa- 
tient of  the  travelers,  —  an  officer  of  the  Guard,  straight 
and  imperious,  a  nimble  little  merchant,  gayly  smiling, 
with  his  gripsack,  and  a  muzhik,  with  his  bundle  over 
his  shoulder. 

Vronsky,  standing  near  Oblonsky,  watched  the  cars 
and  the  passengers,  and  completely  forgot  his  mother. 
What  he  had  just  heard  about  Kitty  caused  him  emotion 


and  joy;  he  involuntarily  straightened  himself;  his  eyes 
glistened  ;  he  felt  that  he  had  won  a  victory. 

"  The  Countess  Vronskaya  is  in  that  compartment," 
said  the  vigorous  conductor,  approaching  him.  These 
words  awoke  him  from  his  reverie,  and  brought  his 
thoughts  back  to  his  mother  and  their  approaching 
meeting.  In  his  soul  he  did  not  respect  his  mother,  and, 
without  ever  having  confessed  as  much  to  himself,  he 
did  not  love  her.  But  his  education  and  the  usages  of 
the  society  in  which  he  lived  did  not  allow  him  to  admit 
that  there  could  be  in  his  relations  with  her  the 
slightest  want  of  consideration.  But  the  more  he  ex- 
aggerated the  bare  outside  forms,  the  less  he  felt  in  his 
heart  that  he  respected  or  loved  her. 


Vronsky  followed  the  conductor,  and,  as  he  was 
about  to  enter  the  railway-carriage,  he  stood  aside  to 
allow  a  lady  to  pass  him. 

With  the  instant  intuition  of  a  man  of  the  world,  he 
saw,  by  a  single  glance  at  this  lady's  exterior,  that  she 
belonged  to  the  very  best  society.  Begging  her  pardon, 
he  was  about  to  enter  the  door,  but  involuntarily  he 
turned  to  give  another  look  at  the  lady,  not  because  she 
was  very  beautiful,  not  because  of  that  elegance  and  that 
unassuming  grace  which  were  expressed  in  her  whole 
person,  but  because  the  expression  of  her  lovely  face,  as 
she  passed,  seemed  to  him  so  gentle  and  sweet. 

Just  as  he  looked  back  at  her,  she  also  turned  her 
head.  Her  brilliant  gray  eyes,  looking  almost  black 
under  the  long  lashes,  rested  on  his  face  with  a  friendly, 
attentive  look,  as  if  she  recognized  him  ;  and  instantly 
she  turned  to  seek  some  one  in  the  throng. 

Quick  as  this  glance  was,  Vronsky  had  time  to  per- 
ceive the  dignified  vivacity  which  played  in  her  facc/i  ^^. 
and  fluttered  between  her  shining  eyes,  and  the  scarcely 7'    ir^ 
perceptible  smile  parting  her  rosy  lips.     There  seemed     ^**-f  Hu, 
to  be  in  her  whole  person   such  a  superfluity  of  life        ' 


that,  in  spite  of  her  will,  it  expressed  itself  now  in  the 
lightning  of  her  eyes,  now  in  her  smile.  She  demurely 
veiled  the  light  in  her  eyes,  but  it  shone  against  her  will 
in  her  scarcely  perceptible  smile. 

Vronsky  went  into  the  carriage.  His  mother,  a  dried- 
up  old  lady  with  black  eyes  and  little  curls,  screwed  up  her 
face  as  she  looked  at  him  with  a  slight  smile  on  her  thin 
lips.  Getting  up  from  her  chair,  and  handing  her  bag 
to  her  maid,  she  extended  her  little  thin  hand  to  her  son, 
and,  pushing  his  head  from  her,  kissed  him  on  the  brow. 

"  You  received  my  telegram  ?  You  are  well.''  Thank 
the  Lord !  " 

"  Did  you  have  a  comfortable  journey  .'' "  said  the  son, 
sitting  down  near  her,  and  yet  involuntarily  listening  to 
a  woman's  voice  just  outside  the  door.  He  knew  that 
it  was  the  voice  of  the  lady  whom  he  had  met. 

"  However,  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  the  lady's 

•"  It  is  the  Petersburg  way  of  looking  at  it,  madam." 

"  Not  at  all,  but  simply  a  woman's,"  was  her  reply. 

"Well!  allow  me  to  kiss  your  hand." 

"  Good-by,  Ivan  Petrovitch.  Now  look  and  see  if  my 
brother  is  here,  and  send  him  to  me,"  said  the  lady,  at 
the  very  door,  and  reentering  the  compartment. 

"  Have  you  found  your  brother }  "  asked  the  Countess 
Vronskaya,  addressing  the  lady. 

Vronsky  now  knew  that  it  was  Karenin's  wife. 

"Your  brother  is  here,"  he  said,  rising.  "Excuse 
me ;  I  did  not  recognize  you ;  but  our  acquaintance  was 
so  short,"  he  added  with  a  bow,  "  that  you  naturally  did 
not  remember  me  either." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  did !  "  she  said.  "  I  should  have  known 
you  because  your  matushka  and  I  have  been  talking 
about  you  all  the  way."  And  at  last  she  permitted  the 
animation  which  had  been  striving  to  break  forth  to 
express  itself  in  a  smile.  "  But  my  brother  has  not 
come  yet." 

"  Go  and  call  him,  Alyosha,"  said  the  old  countess, 

Vronsky  went  out  on  the  platform  and  called :  — 

"Oblonsky!  here!" 


But  Karenin's  wife  did  not  wait  for  her  brother ;  as 
soon  as  she  saw  him  she  ran  Hghtly  out  of  the  carriage, 
went  straight  to  him,  and,  with  a  gesture  which  struck 
Vronsky  by  its  grace  and  energy,  threw  her  left  arm 
around  his  neck  and  kissed  him  affectionately. 

Vronsky  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  her  face,  and 
smiled,  without  knowing  why.  But,  remembering  that 
his  mother  was  waiting  for  him,  he  went  back  into  the 

"  Very  charming,  is  n't  she  ? "  said  the  countess,  re- 
ferring to  Madame  Karenina.  "  Her  husband  put  her 
in  my  charge,  and  I  was  very  glad.  She  and  I  talked 
together  all  the  way.  Well !  and  you  .-•  They  say 
you  are  desperately  in  love.  So  much  the  better,  my 
dear,  so  much  the  better." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  allude  to,  maman  ,"  replied 
the  son,  coldly.     "Come,  fnavmuy  let  us  go." 

At  this  moment  Madame  Karenina  came  back  to  take 
leave  of  the  countess. 

"  Well,  countess !  you  have  found  your  son,  and  I  my 
brother,"  she  said  gayly;  "and  I  have  exhausted  my 
whole  fund  of  stories.  I  should  n't  have  had  anything 
more  to  talk  about." 

"Ah  !  not  so,"  said  the  countess,  taking  her  hand. 
"  I  should  not  object  to  travel  round  the  world  with 
you.  You  are  one  of  those  agreeable  women  with  whom 
either  speech  or  silence  is  pleasant.  As  to  your  son, 
I  beg  of  you,  don't  think  about  him :  we  must  have 
separations  in  this  world." 

.     Madame  Karenina  stood  motionless,  holding  herself 
very  erect,  and  her  eyes  smiled. 

"  Anna  Arkadyevna  has  a  little  boy  about  eight  years 
old,"  said  the  countess,  in  explanation  to  her  son ;  "  she 
has  never  been  separated  from  him  before,  and  it  troubles 
her  to  leave  him." 

"  Yes,  we  have  talked  about  our  children  all  the  time, 
—  the  countess  of  her  son,  I  of  mine,"  said  Madame 
Karenina,  turning  to  Vronsky ;  and  again  the  smile 
lighted  up  her  face,  the  caressing  smile  which  beamed 
upon  him. 


"  That  must  have  been  very  tiresome  to  you,"  said  he, 
instantly  catching  on  the  rebound  the  ball  of  coquetry 
which  she  had  tossed  to  him.  But  she  evidently  did 
not  care  to  continue  her  conversation  in  the  same  tone, 
but  turned  to  the  old  countess  :  — 

"  Thank  you  very  much.  I  don't  see  where  the  time 
has  gone.     Good-by,  countess." 

"  Farewell,  my  dear,"  replied  the  countess.  "  Let 
me  kiss  your  pretty  little  face.  I  tell  you  frankly,  as  it 
is  permitted  an  old  lady,  that  I  am  in  love  with  you." 

Hackneyed  as  this  expression  was,  Madame  Karenina 
evidently  believed  thoroughly  in  its  sincerity,  and  was 
pleased  with  it.  She  blushed,  bowed  slightly,  and  bent 
her  face  down  to  the  old  countess's  lips.  Then,  straight- 
ening herself  up,  she  gave  her  hand  to  Vronsky  with 
the  smile  that  seemed  to  belong  as  much  to  her  eyes  as 
to  her  lips.  He  pressed  her  little  hand,  and,  as  if  it 
were  something  unusual,  was  delighted  with  the  energetic 
jfirmness  with  which  she  frankly  and  fearlessly  shook  his 

Madame  Karenina  went  out  with  light  and  rapid 
step,  carrying  her  rather  plump  person  with  remarkable 

"  Very  charming,"  said  the  old  lady  again. 

Her  son  was  of  the  same  opinion;  and  again  his  eyes 
followed  her  graceful  figure  till  she  was  out  of  sight,  and 
a  smile  rested  on  his  face.  Through  the  window  he  saw 
her  join  her  brother,  take  his  arm,  and  engage  him  in 
lively  conversation,  evidently  about  some  subject  with 
which  Vronsky  had  no  connection,  and  this  seemed  to 
him  annoying. 

"  Well !  are  you  enjoying  perfectly  good  health, 
mamaft  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  his  mother. 

"Very  well,  indeed,  splendid.  Alexandre  has  been 
charming,  and  Marie  has  been  very  good.  She  is  very 

And  again  she  began  to  speak  of  wha.t  was  especially 
interesting  to  her  heart,  —  the  baptism  of  her  grandson, 
for  which  she  had  come  to  Moscow,  and  the  special 
favor  shown  her  eldest  son  by  the  emperor. 


"  And  here  is  Lavronty,"  said  Vronsky,  looking  out  of 
the  window.     "  Now  let  us  go,  if  you  are  ready." 

The  old  steward  who  had  come  with  the  countess 
now  appeared  at  the  door  to  report  that  everything  was 
ready,  and  she  arose  to  go. 

"Come,  there  are  only  a  few  people  about  now,"  said 

The  maid  took  the  bag  and  the  little  dog  ;  the  stew- 
ard and  a  porter  carried  the  other  luggage ;  Vronsky 
offered  his  mother  his  arm,  but,  just  as  they  stepped 
down  from  the  carriage,  a  number  of  men  with  fright- 
ened faces  ran  hastily  by  them.  The  station-master 
followed  in  his  curiously  Qo\oxQdift(razhka  or  uniform-cap. 
Evidently  something  unusual  had  happened.  The  peo- 
ple who  had  left  the  train  were  coming  back  again. 

"What  is  it.?"....  "What  is  it .?"....  "Where  .?" .... 
"  He  was  thrown  down  !  "  ...."  He  was  crushed  to  death  !  " 
were  the  exclamations  heard  among  those  hurrying  by. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  with  his  sister  on  his  arm  had 
returned  with  the  others,  and  were  standing  with  fright- 
ened faces  near  the  train  to  avoid  the  crush. 

The  ladies  went  back  into  the  carriage,  and  Vronsky 
with  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  went  with  the  crowd  to  learn 
the  particulars  of  the  accident. 

A  train-hand,  either  from  drunkenness,  or  because  he 
was  too  closely  muffled  against  the  intense  cold,  had  not 
heard  the  noise  of  a  train  that  was  backing  out,  and  had 
been  crushed. 

The  ladies  had  already  learned  about  the  accident 
from  the  steward  before  Vronsky  and  Oblonsky  came 
back.  Both  of  them  had  seen  the  disfigured  body. 
Oblonsky  was  deeply  moved  ;  he  frowned,  and  seemed 
ready  to  shed  tears. 

"  Akh,  how  horrible !  Akh,  Anna,  if  you  had  only 
seen  it !     Akh,  how  horrible !  "  he  repeated. 

Vronsky  said  nothing  ;  his  handsome  face  was  serious, 
but  perfectly  calm. 

"  Akh,  if  you  had  only  seen  it,  countess !  "  continued 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch, —  "and    his  wife   is   there It 

was  terrible  to  see  her  ....  she  threw  herself  on  his  body. 


They  say  that  he  was  the  only  support  of  a  large 
family.     How  terrible  !  " 

"  Could  anything  be  done  for  her  ?  "  said  Madame 
Karenina,  in  an  agitated  whisper. 

Vronsky  looked  at  her,  and  immediately  left  the  car- 

"  I  will  be  right  back,  maman,"  said  he,  turning  round 
at  the  door. 

When  he  came  back,  at  the  end  of  a  few  minutes, 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch  was  talking  with  the  countess 
about  a  new  singer,  and  she  was  impatiently  watching 
the  door  for  her  son. 

"  Now  let  us  go,"  said  Vronsky, 

They  all  went  out  together,  Vronsky  walking  ahead 
with  his  mother,  Madame  Karenina  and  her  brother 
side  by  side.  At  the  door  the  station-master  overtook 
them,  and  said  to  Vronsky :  — 

"  You  have  given  my  assistant  two  hundred  rubles. 
Will  you  kindly  indicate  the  disposition  that  we  shall 
make  of  them  ?  " 

"  For  his  widow,"  said  Vronsky,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
der?.    "  I  don't  see  why  you  should  have  asked  me." 

"  Did  you  give  that.?  "  asked  Oblonsky  ;  and,  pressing 
his  sister's  arm,  he  said,  "  Very  kind,  very  kind.  Glo- 
rious fellow,  is  n't  he  ?     My  best  wishes,  countess." 

He  and  his  sister  delayed,  looking  for  her  maid. 
When  they  left  the  station,  the  Vronskys'  carriage  had 
already  gone.  People  on  all  sides  were  talking  about 
what  had  happened. 

•*  What  a  horrible  way  of  dying !  "  said  a  gentleman, 
passing  near  them.     "  They  say  he  was  cut  in  two." 

-■  It  seems  to  me,  on  the  contrary,"  replied  another, 
"  that  it  was  a  very  easy  way ;  death  was  instan- 

"  Why  were  n't  there  any  precautions  taken  .-'  "  asked 
a  third. 

Madame  Karenina  sat  down  in  the  carriage ;  and 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch  noticed,  with  astonishment,  that 
her  lips  trembled,  and  that  she  could  hardly  keep  back 
the  tears. 


"What  is  the  matter,  Anna  ? "  he  asked,  when  they 
had  gone  a  little  distance. 

"  It  is  an  evil  omen,"  she  answered. 

"What nonsense!  "  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch.  "You 
have  come  ....  that  is  the  main  thing.  You  cannot  itnAg- 
ine  how  much  I  hope  from  your  visit." 

"  Have  you  known  Vronsky  long  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes.  You  know  we  hope  that  he  will  marry 

"Really,"  said  Anna,  gentiy.  "Well!  now  let  us 
talk  about  yourself,"  she  added,  shaking  her  head  as  if 
she  wanted  to  drive  away  something  that  troubled  and 
pained  her  physically.  "  Let  us  speak  about  your 
affairs.     I  received  your  letter,  and  here  I  am." 

"  Yes,  all  my  hope  is  in  you,"  said  Stepan  Arka- 

"  Well,  then  !  tell  me  all." 

And  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  began  his  story. 

When  they  reached  the  house  he  helped  his  sister 
from  the  carriage,  sighed,  shook  hands  with  her,  and 
went  to  the  court-house. 


When  Anna  entered,  Dolly  was  sitting  in  her  little 
reception-room,  with  a  plump  light-haired  lad,  the  image 
of  his  father,  who  was  learning  a  lesson  from  a  French 
reading-book.  The  boy  was  reading  aloud,  and  at  the 
same  time  twisting  and  trying  to  pull  from  his  jacket 
a  button  which  was  hanging  loose.  His  mother  had 
many  times  reproved  him,  but  the  plump  little  hand 
kept  returning  to  the  button.  At  last  she  had  to  take 
the  button  off,  and  put  it  in  her  pocket. 

"Keep  your  hands  still,  Grisha,"  said  she,  and  again 
took  up  the  bed-quilt  on  which  she  had  been  long  It 
work,  and  which  always  came  handy  at  trying  moments. 
She  worked  nervously,  jerking  her  fingers  and  counting 
the  stitches.  Though  she  had  sent  word  to  her  hus- 
band, the  day  before,  that  his  sister's  arrival  made  no 


difference  to  her,  nevertheless,  she  was  ready  to  receive 
her,  and  was  waiting  for  her  impatiently. 

Dolly  was  absorbed  by  her  woes,  —  absolutely  swal- 
lowed up  by  them.  But  she  did  not  forget  that  her 
sister-in-law,  Anna,  was  the  wife  of  one  of  the  impor- 
tant personages  of  Petersburg,  —  a  Petersburg  graiide 
dame.  And,  owing  to  this  fact,  she  did  not  carry  out 
what  she  had  said  to  her  husband ;  in  other  words,  she 
did  not  forget  that  her  sister  was  coming. 

"After  all,  Anna  is  not  to  blame,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. "  I  know  nothing  about  her  that  is  not  good,  and 
our  relations  have  always  been  good  and  friendly." 

To  be  sure,  as  far  as  she  could  recall  the  impressions 
made  on  her  by  the  Karenins,  at  Petersburg,  their  home 
did  not  seem  to  her  entirely  pleasant ;  there  was  some- 
thing false  in  the  whole  manner  of  their  family  life. 

"  But  why  should  I  not  receive  her  }  Provided,  only, 
that  she  does  not  take  it  into  her  head  to  console  me," 
thought  Dolly.  "  I  know  what  these  Christian  exhor- 
tations, consolations,  and  justifications  mean;  I  have 
gone  over  them  all  a  thousand  times,  and  they  amount  to 

Dolly  had  spent  these  last  days  alone  with  her  chil- 
dren. She  did  not  care  to  speak  to  any  one  about  her 
sorrow,  and  under  the  load  of  it  she  could  not  talk 
about  indifferent  matters.  She  knew  that  some  way  or 
other  she  should  have  to  open  her  heart  to  Anna,  and 
at  one  moment  the  thought  that  she  could  open  her 
heart  delighted  her ;  and  then  again  she  was  angry 
because  she  must  speak  of  her  humiliations  before  his 
sister,  and  listen  to  her  ready-made  phrases  of  exhorta- 
tion and  consolation. 

She  had  been  expecting  every  moment  to  see  her 
sister-in-law  appear,  and  had  been  watching  the  clock  ; 
but,  as  often  happens  in  such  cases,  she  became  so  ab- 
sorbed in  her  thoughts  that  she  did  not  hear  the  door 
bell.  Hearing  light  steps  and  the  rustling  of  a  gown, 
she  looked  up,  and  involuntarily  her  jaded  face  expressed, 
not  pleasure,  but  surprise.  She  arose,  and  threw  her 
arms  round  her  sister-in-law. 


"Why !  have  you  come  already  ? "  she  cried, kissing  her. 

"  Dolly,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  " 

"  And  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  replied  Dolly,  with  a 
faint  smile,  and  trying  to  read,  by  the  expression  of 
Anna's  face,  how  much  she  knew.  "  She  knows  all," 
was  her  thought,  as  she  saw  the  look  of  compassion  on 
her  features.  "  Well !  let  us  go  up-stairs  ;  I  will  show 
you  to  your  room,"  she  went  on  to  say,  trying  to  post- 
pone, as  long  as  possible,  the  time  for  explanations. 

"  Is  this  Grisha  .-'  Heavens  !  how  he  has  grown  !  " 
said  Anna,  kissing  him.  Then,  not  taking  her  eyes 
from  Dolly,  she  added,  with  a  blush,  "  No,  please  let  us 
not  go  yet." 

She  took  off  her  handkerchief  and  her  hat,  and  when 
it  caught  in  the  locks  of  her  dark  curly  hair  she  shook 
her  head  and  released  it. 

"  How  brilliantly  happy  and  healthy  you  look,"  said 
Dolly,  almost  enviously. 

"  I  .-^  "....  exclaimed  Anna.  "Ah  !....  Heavens !  Tania! 
is  that  you,  the  playmate  of  my  little  Serozha  ? "  said 
she,  speaking  to  a  little  girl  who  came  running  in. 
She  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  kissed  her.  "  What  a 
charming  little  girl !  Charming  !  But  you  must  show 
them  all  to  me." 

She  recalled  not  only  the  name,  the  year,  and  the 
month  of  each,  but  their  characteristics  and  their  little 
ailments,  and  Dolly  could  not  help  feeling  touched. 

"Come!  let  us  go  and  see  them,"  said  she;  "but 
Vasya  is  having  her  nap  now ;  it 's  too  bad." 

After  they  had  seen  the  children,  they  came  back  to 
the  sitting-room  alone  for  coffee.  Anna  drew  the  tray 
toward  her,  and  then  she  pushed  it  away. 

"  Dolly,"  said  she,  "he  has  told  me." 

Dolly  looked  at  Anna  coldly.  She  now  expected 
some  expression  of  hypocritical  sympathy,  but  Anna 
said  nothing  of  the  kind. 

"  Dolly,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  do  not  intend  to 
speak  to  you  in  defense  of  him,  nor  to  console  you ;  it 
is  impossible.  But,  dushenka,  dear  heart,  I  am  sorry, 
sorry  for  you  with  all  my  soul !  " 


Under  her  long  lashes  her  brilliant  eyes  suddenly  filled 
with  tears.  She  drew  closer,  and  with  her  energetic 
little  hand  seized  the  hand  of  her  sister-in-law.  Dolly 
did  not  repulse  her,  but  her  face  still  preserved  its 
forlorn  expression. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  console  me.  After  what  has 
happened,  all  is  over  for  me,  all  is  lost." 

And  she  had  hardly  said  these  words  ere  her  face 
suddenly  softened  a  little.  Anna  lifted  to  her  lips  the 
thin,  dry  hand  that  she  held,  and  kissed  it. 

"  But,  Dolly,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  what  is  to  be  done  ? 
What  is  the  best  way  to  act  in  this  frightful  condition 
of  things?     We  must  think  about  it." 

"  All  is  over!  Nothing  can  be  done  !  "  Dolly  replied. 
"And,  what  is  worse  than  all,  you  must  understand  it, 
is  that  I  cannot  leave  him!  the  children!  I  am  chained 
to  him  I  and  I  cannot  live  with  him !  It  is  torture  to  see 
him !  " 

"  Dolly,  galubchik,  he  has  told  me ;  but  I  should  like 
to  hear  your  side  of  the  story.     Tell  me  all." 

Dolly  looked  at  her  with  a  questioning  expression. 
Sympathy  and  the  sincerest  affection  were  depicted  in 
Anna's  face. 

"  I  should  like  to,"  she  suddenly  said.  "  But  I  shall 
tell  you  everything  from  the  very  beginning.  You  know 
how  I  was  married.  With  the  education  that  maman 
gave  me,  I  was  not  only  innocent,  I  was  stupid.  I  did 
not  know  anything.  I  know  they  said  husbands  told 
their  wives  all  about  their  past  lives ;  but  Stiva"  — 
she  corrected  herself,  — "  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  never 
told  me  anything.  You  would  not  believe  it,  but,  up  to 
the  present  time,  I  supposed  that  I  was  the  only  woman 
with  whom  he  was  acquainted.  Thus  I  lived  eight  years. 
You  see,  I  not  only  never  suspected  him  of  being  un- 
faithful to  me,  but  I  believed  such  a  thing  to  be  impossi- 
ble. And  with  such  ideas,  imagine  how  I  suffered  when 
I  suddenly  learned  all  this  horror — all  this  dastardliness. 
....  Understand  me.  To  believe  absolutely  in  his  honor  " .... 
continued  Dolly,  struggling  to  keep  back  her  sobs, 
"  and  suddenly  to  find  a  letter ....  a  letter  from  him  to 


his  mistress,  to  the  gdvertiess  of  ffiy  children.  No ;  this 
is  too  cruel !  "  She  hastily  took  out  her  handkerchief,  and 
hid  her  face  in  It.  "  I  might  have  been  able  to  admit  a 
moment  of  temptation,"  she  continued,  after  a  moment's 
pause  ;  "  but  this  hypocrisy,  this  continual  attempt  to  de- 
ceive me ....  and  for  whom  f ....  To  continue  to  be  my  hus- 
band, and  yet  have  her....  It  is  frightful;  you  cannot 

"Oh,  yes!  I  comprehend;  I  comprehend,  my  dear 
Dolly,"  said  Anna,  squeezing  her  hand. 

"And  do  you  imagine  that  he  appreciates  all  the 
horror  of  my  situation  ?  "  continued  Dolly.  "  Certainly 
not ;  he  is  happy  and  contented." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  interrupted  Anna,  warmly.  "  He  is  thor- 
oughly repentant;  he  is  overwhelmed  with  remorse....  " 

"  Is  he  capable  of  remorse.?"  demanded  Dolly,  scru- 
tinizing her  sister-in-law's  face. 

"  Yes  ;  I  know  him.  I  could  not  look  at  him  without 
feeling  sorry  for  him.  We  both  of  us  know  him.  He 
is  kind ;  but  he  is  proud,  and  now  he  is  so  humiliated ! 
What  touched  me  most"  —  Anna  knew  well  enough  that 
this  would  touch  Dolly  also  —  "are  the  two  things  that 
pained  him  :  In  the  first  place,  he  was  ashamed  for  the 
children  ;  and  secondly,  because,  loving  you  ....  yes,  yes, 
loving  you  more  than  any  one  else  in  the  world,"  —  she 
added  vehemently,  to  prevent  Dolly  from  interrupting 
her,  —  "  he  has  wounded  you  grievously,  has  almost 
killed  you.  *  No,  no,  she  will  never  forgive  me  I '  he 
keeps  saying  all  the  time." 

Dolly  looked  straight  beyond  her  sister  as  she  lis- 

"  Yes,  I  understand  that  his  position  is  terrible.  The 
guilty  suffers  more  than  the  innocent, — if  he  knows 
that  he  is  the  cause  of  all  the  unhappiness.  But  how 
can  I  forgive  him  ?  How  can  I  be  his  wife  again  after 
she  has....  For  me  to  live  with  him  henceforth  would 
be  torment  all  the  more  because  I  still  love  what  I  used 
to  love  in  him ....  " 

And  the  sobs  prevented  her  from  speaking. 

But  as  if  on  purpose,  each  time,  after  she  had  become 


a  little  calmer,  she  began  again  to  speak  of  what  hurt 
her  most  cruelly. 

"  She  is  young,  you  see,  she  is  pretty,"  she  went  on 
to  say.  "  Do  you  realize,  Anna,  for  whom  I  have  sacri- 
ficed my  youth,  my  beauty  ?  For  him  and  his  children  ! 
I  have  worn  myself  out  in  his  service,  I  have  given  him 
the  best  that  I  had;  and  now,  of  course,  some  one 
younger  and  fresher  than  I  am  is  more  pleasing  to  him. 
They  have,  certainly,  discussed  me  between  them,  — 
or,  worse,  have  insulted  me  with  their  silence,  do  you 
understand .-' " 

And  again  her  jealousy  flamed  up  in  her  eyes. 

"And  after  this  he  will  tell  me....  What!  could  I 
believe  it  .■'     No,  never !  it  is  all  over,  all  that  gave  me 

recompense    for    my    sufferings,    for    my    sorrows 

Would  you  believe  it  ?  just  now  I  was  teaching  Grisha. 
It  used  to  be  a  pleasure  to  me;  now  it  is  a  torment. 
Why  should  I  take  the  trouble .''  Why  have  I  children } 
It  is  terrible,  because  my  whole  soul  is  in  revolt ;  instead 
of  love,  tenderness,  I  am  filled  with  nothing  but  hate, 
yes,  hate  !     I  could  kill  him  and  ....  " 

"  Dushenka !  Dolly !  I  understand  you  ;  but  don't 
torment  yourself  so  !  You  are  too  excited,  too  angry,  to 
see  things  in  their  right  light." 

Dolly  grew  calmer,  and  for  a  few  moments  neither 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  Anna  .-"  Consider  and  help  me. 
I  have  thought  of  everything,  but  I  cannot  see  any  way 
out  of  it." 

Anna  herself  did  not  see  any,  but  her  heart  responded 
to  every  word,  to  every  expression  in  her  sister-in-law's 

"I  will  tell  you  one  thing,"  said  she  at  last.  "I  am 
his  sister  ;  I  know  his  character,  his  peculiarity  of  for- 
getting everything," —  she  touched  her  forehead,  —  "this 
peculiarity  of  his  which  is  so  conducive  to  sudden  temp- 
tation, but  also  to  repentance.  At  the  present  moment, 
he  does  not  understand  how  it  was  possible  for  him  to 
have  done  what  he  did." 

"  Not  so !     He  does  understand  and  he   did   under- 


stand,"  interrupted  Dolly.  "  But  I ....  you  forget  me ; 
....  does  that  make  the  pain  less  for  me  .-'  " 

"  Wait !  when  he  made  his  confession  to  me,  I  ac- 
knowledge that  I  did  not  appreciate  the  whole  horror 
of  your  position.  I  saw  only  him  and  the  fact  that  the 
family  was  broken  up.  I  was  sorry  for  him ;  but  now 
that  I  have  been  talking  with  you,  I,  as  a  woman,  look 
on  it  in  a  different  light.  I  see  your  suffering,  and  I 
cannot  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am.  But,  Dolly,  dushenka, 
while  I  fully  appreciate  your  misfortune,  there  is  one 
thing  which  I  do  not  know:  I  do  not  know....  I  do  not 
know  to  what  degree  you  still  love  him.  You  alone  can 
tell  whether  you  love  him  enough  to  forgive  him.  If 
you  do,  then  forgive  him." 

"  No,"  began  Dolly ;  but  Anna  interrupted  her,  kiss- 
ing her  hand  again. 

"  I  know  the  world  better  than  you  do,"  she  said. 
"  I  know  how  such  men  as  Stiva  look  on  these  things. 
You  say  that  tJiey  have  discussed  you  between  them. 
Don't  you  believe  it.  These  men  can  be  unfaithful  to 
their  marriage  vows,  but  their  homes  and  their  wives 
remain  no  less  sacred  in  their  eyes.  Between  these 
women  and  their  families,  they  draw  a  line  of  demar- 
cation which  is  never  crossed.  I  cannot  understand  how 
it  can  be,  but  so  it  is." 

"  Yes,  but  he  has  kissed  her....  " 

"  Wait,  Dolly,  dushenka !  I  saw  Stiva  when  he  was 
in  love  with  you.  I  remember  the  time  when  he  used 
to  come  to  me  and  talk  about  you  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 
I  know  to  what  a  poetic  height  he  raised  you,  and  I 
know  that  the  longer  he  lived  with  you  the  more  he 
admired  you.  We  always  have  smiled  at  his  habit  of 
saying  at  every  opportunity,  ^Dolly  is  an  extraordinary 
woman.'  You  have  been,  and  you  always  will  be,  an 
object  of  adoration  in  his  eyes,  and  this  passion  is  not 
a  defection  of  his  heart ....  " 

"  But  supposing  this  defection  should  be  repeated .''  " 

"  It  is  impossible,  as  I  think ....  " 

"  Yes,  but  would  you  have  forgiven  him  }  " 

"  I  don't  know ;    I  can't  say Yes,  I  could,"  said 


Anna,  after  a  moment's  thought,  apprehending  the 
gravity  of  the  situation  and  weighing  it  in  her  mental 
scales.  "  I  could,  I  Could,  I  could !  Yes,  I  could  for- 
give him,  but  I  should  not  be  the  sarrte  ;  but  I  should 
forgive  him,  and  I  should  forgive  him  in  such  a  way 
as  to  show  that  the  past  Was  forgotten,  absolutely  for- 
gotten." .... 

"Well !  of  course,"  interrupted  Dolly,  impetuously,  as 
if  she  was  saying  what  she  had  said  many  times  to  her- 
self —  "  otherwise  it  would  not  be  forgiveness.  If  you 
forgive,  it  must  be  absolutely,  absolutely.  —  Well !  let 
me  show  you  to  your  room,"  said  she,  rising,  and  throw- 
ing her  arm  around  her  sister-in-law. 

"  My  dear,  how  glad  I  am  that  you  came.  My  heart 
is  already  lighter,  much  lighter." 


Anna  spent  the  whole  day  at  home,  that  is  to  say, 
at  the  Oblonskys',  and  refused  to  see  any  callers,  al- 
though some  of  her  friends,  having  learned  of  her 
arrival,  came  to  see  her.  The  whole  morning  was 
given  to  Dolly  and  the  children.  She  sent  a  note  to 
her  brother  that  he  must  dine  at  home. 

"  Come,  God  is  merciful,"  she  wrote. 

Oblonsky  accordingly  dined  at  home.  The  conver- 
sation was  general,  and  his  wife,  when  she  spoke  to 
him,  called  him  tui  (thou),  which  had  not  been  the  case 
before.  The  relations  between  husband  and  wife  re- 
mained cool,  but  nothing  more  was  said  about  a  separa- 
tion, and  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  saw  the  possibility  of  a 

Kitty  came  in  soon  after  dinner.  Her  acquaintance 
with  Anna  Arkadyevna  was  very  slight,  and  she  was 
not  without  solicitude  as  to  the  welcome  which  she 
would  receive  from  this  great  Petersburg  lady,  whose 
praise  was  in  everybody's  mouth.  But  she  made  a 
pleasing  impression  on  Anna  Arkadyevna ;  this  she 
immediately   realized.      Anna    evidently   admired    her 


youth  and  beauty,  and  Kitty  was  not  slow  in  realizing 
a  sense  of  being,  not  only  under  her  influence,  but  of 
being  in  love  with  her,  and  immediately  fell  in  love 
with  her,  as  young  girls  often  fall  in  love  with  married 
women  older  than  themselves.  Anna  was  not  like  a 
society  woman,  or  the  mother  of  an  eight-year-old  son  ; 
but,  by  her  vivacity  of  movement,  by  the  freshness  and 
animation  of  her  face,  expressed  in  her  smile  and  in  her 
eyes,  she  would  have  been  taken  rather  for  a  young 
girl  of  twenty,  had  it  not  been  for  a  serious  and  some- 
times almost  melancholy  look,  which  struck  and  at- 
tracted Kitty. 

Kitty  felt  that  she  was  perfectly  natural  and  sincere, 
but  that  there  was  something  about  her  that  suggested 
a  whole  world  of  complicated  and  poetic  interests  far 
beyond  her  comprehension. 

After  dinner,  when  Dolly  had  gone  to  her  room, 
Anna  went  eagerly  to  her  brother,  who  was  smoking 
a  cigar. 

"  Stiva,"  said  she,  giving  him  a  joyous  wink,  making 
the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  glancing  toward  the  door, 
"go,  and  God  help  you." 

He  understood  her,  and,  throwing  away  his  cigar, 
disappeared  behind  the  door. 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  Anna  sat  down  upon  a  divan, 
surrounded  by  the  children. 

Either  because  they  saw  that  their  mamma  loved  this 
aunt,  or  because  they  themselves  felt  a  special  attraction 
toward  her,  the  two  eldest,  and  therefore  the  younger, 
as  often  happens  with  children,  had  taken  possession 
of  her  even  before  dinner,  and  could  not  leave  her 
alone.  And  now  they  were  having  something  like  a 
game,  in  which  each  tried  to  get  next  to  her,  to  hold 
her  little  hand,  to  kiss  her,  to  play  with  her  rings,  or 
even  to  cling  to  the  flounces  of  her  gown. 

"  There !  there !  let  us  sit  as  we  were  before,"  said 
Anna,  sitting  down  in  her  place. 

And  Grisha,  proud  and  dehghted,  thrust  his  head 
under  his  aunt's  arm,  and  nestled  up  close  to  her. 

"And  when  is  the  ball }  "  she  asked  of  Kitty. 


"  Next  week !  it  will  be  a  lovely  ball  —  one  of  those 
balls  where  one  always  has  a  good  time." 

"  Then  there  are  places  where  one  always  has  a  good 
time  ?  "  asked  Anna,  in  a  tone  of  gentle  irony. 

"  Strange,  but  it  is  so.  We  always  enjoy  ourselves 
at  the  Bobrishchefs'  and  at  the  Nikitins',  but  at  the  Mezh- 
kofs'  it  is  always  dull.    Have  n't  you  ever  noticed  that  .-*  " 

"  No,  dusha  nioya,  no  ball  could  be  amusing  to  me," 
said  Anna;  and  again  Kitty  saw  in  her  eyes  that  un- 
known world,  which  had  not  yet  been  revealed  to  her. 
"  For  me  they  are  all  more  or  less  tiresome." 

"  How  could  j^«  find  a  ball  tiresome  } " 

"  And  why  should  /  no^  find  a  ball  tiresome  ? " 

Kitty  perceived  that  Anna  foresaw  what  her  answer 
would  be :  — 

"  Because  you  are  always  the  loveliest  of  all !  " 

Anna  blushed  easily ;  she  blushed  now,  and  said  :  — 

"  In  the  first  place,  that  is  not  true  ;  and  in  the  second, 
if  it  were,  it  would  not  make  any  difference." 

"Won't  you  go  to  this  ball .?  "  asked  Kitty. 

"  I  think  that  I  would  rather  not  go.  Here  !  take  it," 
said  she  to  Tanya,  who  was  drawing  off  a  loose  ring 
from  her  delicate  white  finger. 

"  I  should  be  delighted  if  you  would  go ;  I  should  so 
like  to  see  you  at  a  ball." 

"  Well,  if   I   have  to  go,  I  shall  console  myself  with 

the   thought   that   I   am  making  you  happy Grisha, 

don't  pull  my  hair  down  !  it  is  disorderly  enough  now," 
said  she,  putting  back  the  rebellious  lock  with  which  the 
lad  was  playing. 

"  I  can  imagine  you  at  a  ball  dressed  in  violet." 

"  Why  in  violet  ?  "  asked  Anna,  smihng.  "  Now,  chil- 
dren, run  away,  run  away.  Don't  you  hear  ?  Miss 
Hull  IS  calling  you  to  tea,"  said  she,  freeing  herself 
from  the  children,  and  sending  them  out  to.  the  dining- 

"  I  know  why  you  want  me  to  go  to  the  ball.  You 
expect  something  wonderful  to  happen  at  this  ball,  and 
you  are  anxious  for  us  all  to  be  there  so  as  to  share  in 
your  happiness." 


"  How  did  you  know  ?     You  are  right !  " 

"  Oh,  what  a  lovely  age  is  yours!  "  continued  Anna. 
"  I  remember  well,  and  know  this  purple  haze  like  that 
which  you  see  hanging  over  the  mountains  in  Switzer- 
land. This  haze  covers  everything  in  that  delicious  time 
when  childhood  ends,  and  from  out  this  immense  circle, 
so  joyous,  so  gay,  grows  a  footpath  ever  narrower  and 
narrower,  and  leads  gayly  and  painfully  into  that  laby- 
rinth, and  yet  it  seems  so  bright  and  so  beautiful 

Who  has  not  passed  through  it .''  " 

Kitty  listened  and  smiled.  "  How  did  she  pass  through 
it.?  How  I  should  like  to  know  the  whole  romance  of 
her  life ! "  thought  Kitty,  remembering  the  unpoetic 
appearance  of  her  husband,  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch. 

"  I  know  a  thing  or  two,"  continued  Anna.  "  Stiva 
told  m.e,  and  I  congratulate  you ;  he  pleased  me  very 
much.     I  met  Vronsky  at  the  station." 

"  Akh !  was  he  there.''  "  asked  Kitty,  blushing.  "What 
did  Stiva  tell  you  }  " 

"  Stiva  told  me  the  whole  story ;  and  I  should  be  de- 
lighted !  I  came  from  Petersburg  with  Vronsky's 
mother,"  she  continued ;  "  and  his  mother  never  ceased 
to  speak  of  him.  He  is  her  favorite.  I  know  how 
partial  mothers  are,  but....  " 

"  What  did  his  mother  tell  you  >.  " 

"Akh  !  many  things  ;  and  I  know  that  he  is  her  favor- 
ite. But  still  it  is  evident  he  has  a  chivalrous  nature. 
—  Well,  for  example,  she  told  me  how  he  wanted  to  give 
up  his  whole  fortune  to  his  brother ;  how  he  did  some- 
thing still  more  wonderful  when  he  was  a  boy  —  saved 
a  woman  from  drowning.  In  a  word,  he  is  a  hero ! " 
said  Anna,  smiling,  and  remembering  the  two  hundred 
rubles  which  he  had  given  at  the  station. 

But  she  did  not  tell  about  the  two  hundred  rubles. 
Somehow  it  was  not  pleasant  for  her  to  remember  that. 
She  felt  that  there  was  something  in  it  that  concerned 
herself  too  closely,  and  ought  not  to  have  been. 

"  The  countess  urged  me  to  come  ta  see  her,"  con- 
tinued Anna,  "  and  I  should  be  very  happy  to  meet 
her  again,  and  I  will  go  to-morrow.  — Thank  the  Lord, 


Stiva  remains  a  long  time  with  Dolly  in  the  library,"  she 
added,  changing  the  subject,  and,  as  Kitty  perceived, 
looking  a  little  annoyed. 

"  I  '11  be  the  first....  "  "  No,  I,"  cried  the  children,  who 
had  just  finished  their  supper,  and  came  running  to  their 
Aunt  Anna. 

"  All  together,"  she  said,  laughing,  and  running  to 
meet  them.  She  seized  them  and  piled  them  in  a  heap, 
struggling  and  screaming  with  delight. 


At  tea-time  Dolly  came  out  of  her  room.  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch  was  not  with  her ;  he  had  left  his  wife's 
chamber  by  the  rear  door. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  cold  up-stairs,"  remarked 
Dolly,  addressing  Anna.  "  I  should  like  to  have  you 
come  down  and  be  near  me." 

"  Akh  !  please  don't  worry  about  me,"  replied  Anna, 
trying  to  divine  by  Dolly's  face  if  there  had  been  a 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  too  light  for  you  here,"  said  her 

"  I  assure  you,  I  sleep  anywhere  and  everywhere  as 
sound  as  a  woodchuck." 

"  What  is  it .''  "  asked  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  coming  in 
from  his  library,  and  addressing  his  wife. 

By  the  tone  of  his  voice,  both  Kitty  and  Anna  knew 
that  the  reconciliation  had  taken  place. 

"  I  wanted  to  install  Anna  down-stairs,  but  we  should 
have  to  put  up  some  curtains.  No  one  knows  how  to  do 
it,  and  so  I  must,"  said  Dolly,  in  reply  to  her  husband's 

"  God  knows  if  they  have  wholly  made  it  up,"  thought 
Anna,  as  she  noticed  Dolly's  cold  and  even  tone. 

"  Akh  !  don't,  Dolly,  don't  make  difficulties !  Well !  if 
you  like,  I  will  fix  everything."  .... 

■*Yes,"  thought  Anna,  "they  must  have  had  a  recon- 


"I  know  how  you  do  everything,"  said  Dolly;  "you 
give  Matve  an  order  which  it  is  impossible  to  carry  out, 
and  then  you  go  away,  and  he  gets  everything  into  a 

And  her  customary  mocking  smile  wrinkled  the  cor- 
ners of  Dolly's  lips  as  she  said  that. 

"Complete,  complete  reconciliation,  complete,"  thought 
Anna.  "  Thank  God  !  "  and,  rejoicing  that  she  had  been 
the  cause  of  it,  she  went  to  Dolly  and  kissed  her. 

"  Not  by  any  means.  Why  have  you  such  scorn  for 
Matve  and  me  ? "  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  to  his  wife, 
with  an  almost  imperceptible  smile. 

Throughout  the  evening  Dolly,  as  usual,  was  lightly 
ironical  toward  her  husband,  and  Stepan  Arkadyevitch 
was  happy  and  gay,  but  within  bounds,  and  as  if  he 
wanted  to  make  it  evident  that  though  he  had  obtained 
pardon  he  had  not  forgotten  his  offense. 

About  half-past  nine  a  particularly  animated  and 
pleasant  confidential  conversation,  which  was  going  on 
at  the  tea-table,  was  interrupted  by  an  incident  appar- 
ently of  the  slightest  importance,  but  this  simple  inci- 
dent seemed  to  each  member  of  the  family  to  be  very 

They  were  talking  about  one  of  their  Petersburg 
acquaintances  when  Anna  suddenly  arose  :  — 

"  I  have  her  picture  in  my  album,"  she  said ;  "  and  at 
the  same  time  I  will  show  you  my  little  Serozha,"  she 
added,  with  a  smile  of  maternal  pride. 

It  was  usually  about  ten  o'clock  when  she  bade  her 
son  good-night.  Often  she  herself  put  him  to  bed 
before  she  went  out  to  parties,  and  now  she  felt  a  sen- 
sation of  sadness  to  be  so  far  from  him.  No  matter 
what  people  were  speaking  about,  her  thoughts  reverted 
always  to  her  little  curly-haired  Serozha,  and  the  desire 
seized  her  to  go  and  look  at  his  picture,  and  to  talk 
about  him.  Using  this  first  pretext,  she,  with  her  light, 
decided  step,  started  to  fetch  her  album.  The  stairs  to 
her  room  started  from  the  landing-place  in  the  large 
staircase,  which  led  from  the  heated  hall.  Just  as  she 
was  leaving  the  drawing-room  the  front  door-bell  rang. 

VOL.  I.  —  7 


"Who  can  that  be?"  said  Dolly. 

"  It  is  too  early  to  come  after  me,  and  too  late  for  a 
call,"  remarked  Kitty. 

"  Doubtless  somebody  with  papers  for  me,"  said 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch. 

As  Anna  was  passing  the  staircase  she  saw  the  ser- 
vant going  up  to  announce  a  caller,  but  the  caller  stood 
in  the  light  of  the  hall  lamp,  and  was  waiting.  Anna 
glancing  down  saw  that  it  was  Vronsky,  and  a  strange 
sensation  of  joy,  mixed  with  terror,  suddenly  seized  her 
heart.  He  was  standing  with  his  coat  on,  and  was  tak- 
ing something  out  of  his  pocket.  At  the  moment  Anna 
reached  the  center  of  the  staircase,  he  lifted  his  eyes, 
and  saw  her,  and  his  face  assumed  an  expression  of 
humility  and  confusion.  She  bowed  her  head  slightly  in 
salutation  ;  and  as  she  went  on  her  way  she  heard  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch's  loud  voice  calling  him  to  come  in,  and  then 
Vronsky's  low,  soft,  and  tranquil  voice  excusing  himself. 

When  Anna  reached  the  room  with  the  album,  he  had 
gone,  and  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  was  telling  how  he  came 
to  see  about  a  dinner  which  they  were  going  to  give  the 
next  day  in  honor  of  some  celebrity  who  was  in  town. 

"  And  nothing  would  induce  him  to  come  in.  What 
a  queer  fellow  !"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch. 

Kitty  blushed.  She  thought  that  she  alone  understood 
what  he  had  come  for,  and  why  he  would  not  come  in. 
"  He  must  have  been  at  our  house,"  she  thought,  "and, 
not  finding  me,  have  supposed  that  I  was  here;  but  he 
did  not  come  in  because  it  was  late  and  Anna  here." 

They  all  exchanged  glances,  but  nothing  was  said, 
and  they  began  to  examine  Anna's  album. 

There  was  nothing  extraordinary  or  strange  in  a  man 
calling  at  half-past  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  to  inquire 
of  a  friend  about  the  details  of  a  proposed  dinner  and 
not  coming  in ;  yet  to  everybody  it  seemed  strange,  and 
it  seemed  more  strange  and  unpleasant  to  Anna  than  to 
any  one  else. 



The  ball  was  just  beginning  when  Kitty  and  her 
mother  mounted  the  grand  staircase,  brilliantly  Hghted 
and  adorned  with  flowers  and  with  powdered  lackeys  in 
red  kaftans.  In  the  ball-rooms  there  was  an  incessant 
bustle  of  movement,  which  sounded  like  the  humming  of 
a  beehive,  and,  as  they  stopped  to  give  the  last  touches 
to  their  hair  and  gowns,  before  a  mirror  hung  on  the 
tree-decorated  landing,  they  heard  the  scraping  of  violins 
as  the  orchestra  was  tuning  up  for  the  first  waltz. 

A  little  old  man,  a  civilian,  who  was  smoothing  his 
white  locks  at  another  mirror,  and  who  exhaled  a  pene- 
trating odor  of  perfumes,  brushed  against  them  on  the 
stairway  and  stood  aside,  evidently  impressed  by  Kitty's 
youth  and  beauty.  A  beardless  young  man,  such  as  the 
old  Prince  Shcherbatsky  would  have  reckoned  among  the 
"  mashers,"  wearing  a  very  low-cut  waistcoat  and  a  white 
necktie  which  he  adjusted  as  he  walked,  bowed  to  them, 
and  after  he  had  passed  them  turned  back  to  ask  Kitty 
for  a  quadrille.  The  first  quadrille  was  already  promised 
to  Vronsky,  and  so  she  was  obliged  to  content  the  young 
man  with  the  second.  An  officer  buttoning  his  gloves 
was  standing  near  the  door  of  the  ball-room ;  he  cast  a 
glance  of  admiration  at  the  blooming  Kitty,  and  caressed 
his  mustache. 

Although  Kitty  had  taken  great  pains  and  spent  much 
labor  on  her  toilet,  her  gown,  and  all  the  preparations 
for  this  ball,  yet  now  she  entered  the  ball-room,  in 
her  complicated  robe  of  tulle  with  its  rose-colored  over- 
dress, as  easily  and  naturally  as  if  all  these  rosettes  and 
laces,  all  the  requirements  of  her  toilet,  had  not  caused 
her  or  her  people  a  moment's  attention,  as  if  she  had 
been  born  in  this  lace-trimmed  ball-dress,  and  with  a 
rose  and  two  ribbons  placed  on  the  top  of  her  grace- 
ful head.  When  the  old  princess,  her  mother,  just  be- 
fore they  entered  the  ball-room,  was  about  to  readjust 
her  broad  sash-ribbon,  Kitty  gently  declined.  She  felt 
that   everything  about   her   must  surely  be  right  and 


graceful,  and  that  to  readjust  anything  about  her  was 

Kitty  was  looking  her  prettiest.  Her  gown  was  not 
too  tight  anywhere ;  her  lace  fichu  did  not  slip  down, 
her  rosettes  did  not  crush,  and  did  not  pull  off;  her 
rose-colored  slippers  with  their  high  heels  did  not  pinch 
her,  but  were  agreeable  to  her  feet.  The  thick  braids 
of  her  fair  hair  kept  perfectly  in  place  on  her  graceful 
little  head.  All  the  three  buttons  on  her  long  gloves, 
which  enveloped,  without  changing,  the  pretty  shape  of 
her  hands,  fastened  easily,  and  did  not  tear.  The  black 
velvet  ribbon,  attached  to  a  medallion,  was  thrown 
daintily  about  her  neck.  This  ribbon  was  charming; 
and  at  home,  as  she  saw  it  in  her  mirror,  adorning  her 
neck,  Kitty  felt  that  this  ribbon  spoke.  Everything 
else  might  be  dubious,  but  this  ribbon  was  charming. 
Kitty  smiled,  even  there  at  the  ball,  as  she  saw  it  in  the 
mirror.  In  her  bare  shoulders  and  arms  Kitty  felt  a 
sensation  of  marble  coolness,  a  sensation  which  she 
especially  enjoyed.  Her  eyes  shone  and  her  rosy  lips 
could  not  refrain  from  smiling  with  the  consciousness 
of  how  fascinating  she  was. 

She  had  scarcely  entered  the  ball-room  and  joined  a 
group  of  tulle-,  ribbon-,  lace-,  and  flower-decorated  ladies, 
who  were  waiting  for  partners,  —  Kitty  never  remained 
long  in  that  category,  —  when  she  was  invited  to  waltz 
with  the  best  dancer,  the  principal  cavalier  in  the  whole 
hierarchy  of  the  ball-room,  the  celebrated  leader  of  the 
mazurka,  the  master  of  ceremonies,  the  handsome,  ele- 
gant Yegorushka  Korsunsky,  a  married  man  and  a 
civilian.  He  had  just  left  the  Countess  Bonina,  with 
whom  he  had  been  taking  the  first  turns  of  the  waltz, 
and,  while  looking  round  over  his  domain,  in  other 
words,  over  the  few  couples  who  were  venturing  out  on 
the  floor,  he  perceived  Kitty,  made  his  way  to  her  in 
that  easy  manner  peculiar  to  leaders  of  the  mazurka, 
bowed,  and  without  even  asking  her  permission  put  his 
arm  around  the  young  girl's  slender  waist.  She  looked 
for  some  one  to  whom  to  confide  her  fan ;  and  the  mis- 
tress of  the  mansion,  smiling  on  her,  took  charge  of  it. 


"  How  good  of  you  to  come  early,"  said  Korsunsky, 
as  he  put  his  arm  around  her  waist.  "  I  don't  like  the 
fashion  of  being  late." 

Kitty  placed  her  left  hand  on  her  partner's  shoulder, 
and  her  little  feet,  shod  in  rose-colored  bashmaks,  glided 
swiftly,  lightly,  and  rhythmically  over  the  polished  floor. 

"  It  is  restful  to  dance  with  you,"  said  he,  as  he  fell 
into  the  slow  measures  of  the  waltz  :  "  charming !  such 
lightness  !  such  precision  !  " 

That  was  what  he  said  to  almost  all  his  dancing 

She  smiled  at  his  flattery,  and  continued  to  study  the 
ball-room  across  her  partner's  shoulder.  She  was  not 
such  a  novice  in  society  as  to  find  all  faces  blending  in 
one  magic  sensation ;  she  had  not  been  so  assiduous  in 
her  attendance  at  balls  as  to  know  every  one  present, 
and  be  tired  of  seeing  them.  But  she  was  in  that  happy 
condition  between  these  two  extremes,  she  was  exhilarated 
and  at  the  same  time  she  was  sufficiently  self-possessed 
to  be  able  to  look  around  and  observe. 

She  noticed  a  group  that  had  gathered  in  the  left-hand 
corner  of  the  ball-room,  composed  of  the  very  flower  of 
society.  Korsunsky's  wife,  Lidi,  a  beauty  in  an  ex- 
tremely low-cut  corsage,  was  there ;  the  mistress  of  the 
mansion  was  there ;  there  shone  Krivin's  bald  head, 
always  to  be  seen  where  the  flower  of  society  was 
gathered.  Young  men  were  looking  at  this  group,  and 
not  venturing  to  join  it.  Then  her  eyes  fell  on  Stiva, 
who  was  also  there,  and  then  she  saw  Anna's  elegant 
figure  dressed  in  black  velvet.  And  //<?  was  there. 
Kitty  had  not  seen  him  since  the  evening  when  she 
refused  Levin.  Kitty's  keen  eyes  instantly  recognized 
him  across  the  room,  and  saw  that  he  was  looking  at 

"Shall  we  have  one  more  turn  ?  You  are  not  fatigued  ? " 
asked  Korsunsky,  slightly  out  of  breath, 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"  Where  shall  I  leave  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  Madame  Karenina  is  here ; ....  take  me  to 


"Anywhere  that  you  please." 

And  Korsunsky,  still  waltzing  with  Kitty  but  with  a 
slower  step,  made  his  way  toward  the  group  on  the  left, 
saying  as  he  went,  "  Pardon,  mesdames  ;  pardon,  pardon, 
mesdames ;''  and  steering  skilfully  through  the  sea  of 
laces,  tulle,  and  ribbons,  without  catching  a  feather,  placed 
her  in  a  chair  after  a  final  turn,  which  gave  a  glimpse  of 
her  slender  ankles  in  dainty  blue  stockings,  while  her 
train  spread  out  like  a  fan  and  covered  Krivin's  knees. 

Korsunsky  bowed,  then  straightened  himself  up,  and 
offered  Kitty  his  arm  to  conduct  herto  Anna  Arkadyevna. 
Kitty,  blushing  a,  little,  fi^eil^  Krivin  from  the  folds  of 
her  train,  and,  just  a  trifle- dizzy,  looked  around  in  search 
of  Anna7  Anna  was  n©t  dressed  in  violet,  as  Kitty  had 
hoped,  but  in  a  low-cut  black  velvet  gown,  which  showed 
her  plump  shoulders  and  bosom  smooth  as  ivory,  her 
beautiful  round  arms,  and  her  delicate  slender  wrists. 
Her  robe  was  adorned  with  Venetian  guipure ;  on  her 
head,  gracefully  set  on  her^rk  locks,  was  a  little  gar- 
land of  heartsease  ^ ;  and  a  similar  IJouquet  was  fastened 
in  her  black  ribbon-belt  in  the  midst  of  white  lace.  Her 
hair,  which  was  all  her  own,  was  dressed  very  simply ; 
there  was  nothing  remarkable  about  it  except  the  abun- 
dance of  little  natural  curls,  which  strayed  in  fascinating 
disorder  about  her  neck  and  temples.  She  wore  a  string 
of  pearls  about  her  firm  round  throat. 

Kitty  had  seen  Anna  every  day,  and  had  fallen  in 
love  with  her ;  but  now  that  she  saw  her  dressed  in 
black,  instead  of  the  violet  which  she  had  expected,  she 
was  conscious  that  she  had  never  before  appreciated 
her  full  beauty.  She  saw  her  in  a  new  and  unexpected 
light.  Now  she  realized  that  violet  would  not  have  been 
becoming  to  her,  and  that  her  charm  consisted  entirely 
in  her  independence  of  toilet ;  that  her  toilet  was  only 
an  accessory,  and  her  black  gown  with  the  magnificent 
laces  was  only  an  accessory,  was  only  a  frame  for  her, 
and  nothing  else  was  to  be  thought  of  but  herself  in  all 
her  simplicity,  naturalness,  elegance,  and  at  the  same 
time  her  gayety  and  animation. 

J  Viola  tricolor,  called  in  Russian  anyutini  gldzki,  or  Anna's  eyes. 


When  Kitty  joined  her  she  was  standing  in  her  usual 
erect  attitude,  talking  with  the  master  of  the  house,  her 
head  slightly  bent  toward  him. 

"  No,  I  would  not  cast  the  first  stone,  though  I  don't 
understand  about  it,"  she  was  saying  to  him,  slightly 
shrugging  her  shoulders ;  and  then,  perceiving  Kitty, 
she  turned  to  her  with  an  affectionate  and  reassuring 
smile.  With  a  woman's  quick  intuition  she  saw  all  the 
beauty  of  the  young  girl's  toilet,  and  gave  her  an  appre- 
ciative nod,  which  Kitty  understood. 

"You  even  dance  into  the  ball-room,"  she  said. 

"  She  is  the  most  faithful  of  my  aids,"  said  Korsunsky, 
addressing  Anna  Arkadyevna,  whom  he  had  not  as  yet 
seen.  "  The  princess  helps  to  make  any  ball-room  gay 
and  delightful.  Anna  Arkadyevna,  will  you  take  a 
turn } "  he  asked,  with  a  bow. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  acquainted  ?  "  said  the  host. 

"  Who  is  it  we  don't  know  ?  My  wife  and  I  are  like 
white  wolves,  —  everybody  knows  us,"  replied  Korsun- 
sky.    "  A  little  waltz,  Anna  Arkadyevna .'' " 

"I  don't  dance  when  I  can  help  it,"  she  replied. 

"  But  you  can't  help  it  to-night,"  said  Korsunsky.  At 
this  moment  Vronsky  joined  them. 

"  Well !  if  I  can't  help  dancing,  let  us  dance,"  said 
she,  placing  her  hand  on  Korsunsky's  shoulder,  and  not 
replying  to  Vronsky's  salutation. 

"  Why  is  she  vexed  with  him  .■' "  thought  Kitty,  notic- 
ing that  Anna  purposely  paid  no  attention  to  Vronsky's 
bow.  Vronsky  joined  Kitty,  reminded  her  that  she  was 
engaged  to  him  for  the  first  quadrille,  and  expressed 
regret  that  he  had  not  seen  her  for  so  long.  Kitty, 
while  she  was  looking  with  admiration  at  Anna  as  she 
waltzed,  listened  to  Vronsky.  She  expected  that  he 
woald  invite  her;  but  he  did  nothing  of  the  sort,  and 
she  looked  at  him  with  astonishment.  A  flush  came 
into  his  face,  and  he  hastily  suggested  that  they  should 
waltz ;  but  he  had  scarcely  put  his  arm  around  her 
slender  waist  and  taken  the  first  step,  when  suddenly 
the  music  stopped.  Kitty  looked  into  his  face,  which 
was  close  to  her  own,  and  for  many  a  long  day,  even 


after  years  had  passed,  the  loving  look  which  she  gave 
him  and  which  he  did  not  return  tore  her  heart  with 
cruel  shame. 

**  Pardon  !  pardon  !  A  waltz!  a  waltz!"  cried  Kor- 
sunsky  at  the  other  end  of  the  ball-room,  and,  seizing 
the  first  young  lady  at  hand,  he  began  once  more  to 


Vronsky  took  a  few  turns  with  Kitty,  then  she  joined 
her  mother ;  but  she  had  time  for  only  a  few  words  with 
the  Countess  Nordstone,  ere  Vronsky  came  back  to  get 
her  for  the  first  quadrille.  During  the  quadrille  nothing 
of  importance  was  said :  their  conversation  was  first  on 
Korsunsky  and  his  wife,  whom  Vronsky  described  very 
amusingly  as  amiable  children  of  forty  years,  then  on 
some  private  theatricals  ;  and  only  once  did  his  words 
give  her  a  keen  pang,  —  when  he  asked  if  Levin  were 
there,  and  added  that  he  liked  him  very  much. 

But  Kitty  counted  little  on  the  quadrille  :  she  waited 
for  the  mazurka  with  a  violent  beating  of  the  heart. 
She  had  a  feeling  that  during  the  mazurka  all  would 
surely  be  settled.  The  fact  that  Vronsky  did  not  ask 
her  during  the  quadrille  did  not  disturb  her.  She  felt 
sure  that  she  should  be  selected  as  his  partner  for  the 
mazurka  as  in  all  preceding  balls,  and  she  refused  five 
invitations,  saying  that  she  was  engaged. 

This  whole  ball,  even  to  the  last  quadrille,  seemed  to 
Kitty  like  a  magical  dream,  full  of  flowers,  of  joyous 
sounds,  of  movement ;  she  did  not  cease  to  dance  until 
her  strength  began  to  fail,  and  then  she  begged  to  rest 
a  moment.  But  in  dancing  the  last  quadrille  with  one 
of  those  tiresome  men  whom  she  found  it  impossible  to 
refuse,  she  found  herself  in  the  same  set  with  Vronsky 
and  Anna.  Kitty  had  not  fallen  in  with  Anna  since  the 
beginning  of  the  ball,  and  now  again  she  suddenly  saw 
her  in  another  new  and  unexpected  light.  She  seemed 
laboring  under  an  excitement  such  as  Kitty  herself  had 
experienced — that  of  success.      She    saw    that   Anna 


was  excited  and  intoxicated  with  the  wine  of  admiration. 
Kitty  knew  the  sensation,  knew  the  symptoms  and 
recognized  them  in  Anna^ — she  saw  the  feverish  brill- 
iancy of  her,  and  the  smile  of  happiness  and  excitement 
involuntarily  parting  her  lips,  and  the  harmony,  precis- 
ion, and  grace  of  her  movements. 

"  Who  has  caused  it  ? "  she  asked  herself,  "  All,  or 
one  > " 

She  would  not  help  her  tormented  partner  in  the 
conversation,  the  thread  of  which  he  had  dropped  and 
could  not  pick  up  again  ;  and  though  she  submitted 
with  apparent  good  grace  to  the  loud  orders  of  Kor- 
sunsky,  shouting  "Ladies'  chain"  and  "All  hands 
around,"  she  watched  her  closely,  and  her  heart  op- 
pressed her  more  and  more. 

"  No,  it  is  not  the  approval  of  the  crowd  that  has  so 
intoxicated  her,  but  the  admiration  of  the  one.  And 
that  one.?  —  Can  it  be  /lef" 

Every  time  Vronsky  spoke  to  Anna,  her  eyes  spar- 
kled with  pleasure,  and  a  smile  of  happiness  parted  her 
rosy  lips.  She  seemed  to  make  an  effort  not  to  exhibit 
any  signs  of  this  joy,  but  nevertheless  happiness  was 
painted  on  her  face. 

"  Can  it  be  /le  f  "  thought  Kitty. 

She  looked  at  him,  and  was  horror-struck.  The  senti- 
ments that  were  reflected  on  Anna's  face  as  in  a  mirror 
were  also  visible  on  his.  Where  were  his  coolness,  his 
calm  dignity,  the  repose  which  always  marked  his  face .-' 
Now,  as  he  addressed  his  partner,  his  head  bent  as 
if  he  were  ready  to  worship  her,  and  his  look  ex- 
pressed at  once  humility  and  passion,  as  if  it  said,  '  J 
tvould  not  offejid  you.  I  wonld  save  myself,  and  how 
can  /.?' 

Such  was  the  expression  of  his  face,  and  she  had 
never  before  seen  it  in  him. 

They  talked  about  their  mutual  acquaintances,  their 
conversation  was  made  up  of  trifles,  and  yet  Kitty  felt 
that  every  word  they  spoke  decided  her  fate.  Strange 
as  it  might  seem,  although  they  really  remarked  how 
ridiculous   Ivan   Ivanuitch  was  in   his  efforts  to  speak 

,iq6  anna    KARENINA 

French,  and  how  Miss  Fletskaya  might  have  found  a 
better  match,  nevertheless  these  words  had  for  them  a 
peculiar  meaning,  and  they  understood  it  just  as  well  as 
Kitty  did. 

In  Kitty's  mind,  the  whole  ball,  the  whole  evening, 
everything,  seemed  enveloped  in  mist.  Only  the  stern 
school  of  her  education,  serving  her  well,  sustained  her, 
and  enabled  her  to  do  what  was  required  of  her,  that  is 
to  say,  to  dance,  to  answer  questions,  to  talk,  even  to 

But  even  before  the  mazurka  began,  while  they  were 
arranging  the  chairs  and  a  few  couples  were  already 
starting  to  go  from  the  smaller  rooms  into  the  great 
ball-room,  a  sudden  attack  of  despair  and  terror  seized 
her.  She  had  refused  five  invitations,  and.  now  she  had 
no  partner ;  and  now  there  was  no  hope  at  all  that  she 
would  be  invited  again,  for  the  very  reason  that  her 
social  success  would  make  it  unlikely  to  occur  to  any 
one  that  she  would  be  without  a  partner.  She  would 
have  to  tell  her  mother  that  she  was  not  feeling  well, 
and  go  home,  but  even  this  seemed  impossible.  She 
felt  overwhelmed. 

She  went  into  the  farthest  end  of  a  small  parlor,  and 
threw  herself  into  an  arm-chair.  The  airy  skirts  of  her 
robe  enveloped  her  delicate  figure  as  in  a  cloud.  One 
bare  arm,  as  yet  a  little  thin,  but  pretty,  fell  without 
energy,  and  lay  in  the  folds  of  her  rose-colored  skirt ; 
with  the  other  she  held  her  fan,  and  with  quick,  sharp 
motions  tried  to  cool  her  heated  face.  But  while  she 
looked  like  a  lovely  butterfly  caught  amid  grasses,  and 
ready  to  spread  its  rainbow-tinted  wings,  a  horrible 
despair  oppressed  her  heart. 

"  But  perhaps  I  am  mistaken  :  perhaps  it  is  not  so." 

And  again  she  recalled  what  she  had  seen. 

"Kitty,  what  does  this  mean.?"  said  the  Countess 
Nordstone,  coming  to  her  with  noiseless  steps. 

Kitty's  lower  lip  quivered  ;  she  hastily  arose. 

"  Kitty,  are  n't  you  dancing  the  mazurka  ?  " 

"  No  ....  no,"  she  replied,  with  trembling  voice,  almost 
in  tears. 


"I  heard  him  invite  her  for  the  mazurka,"  said  the 
countess,  knowing  that  Kitty  would  know  whom  she 
meant.  "She  said,  '  What!  ai^e n' t  you  going  to  dance 
ivith  the  Princess  Shchei'batskaya?" 

"  Akh  !  it 's  all  one  to  me,"  said  Kitty. 

No  one  besides  herself  realized  her  position.  No  one 
knew  that  she  had  refused  a  man  whom  perhaps  she 
loved,  —  refused  him  because  she  preferred  some  one 

The  Countess  Nordstone  went  in  search  of  Korsun- 
sky,  who  was  her  partner  for  the  mazurka,  and  sent  him 
to  invite  Kitty. 

Kitty  danced  in  the  first  figure,  and  fortunately  was 
not  required  to  talk,  because  Korsunsky  was  obliged  to 
be  ubiquitous,  making  his  arrangements  in  his  little  king- 
dom. Vronsky  and  Anna  were  sitting  nearly  opposite 
to  her :  she  saw  them  sometimes  near,  sometimes  at  a 
distance,  as  their  turn  brought  them  into  the  figures ; 
and  as  she  watched  them,  she  felt  more  and  more  cer- 
tain that  her  unhappiness  was  complete.  She  saw  that 
they  felt  themselves  alone  even  in  the  midst  of  the 
crowded  ball-room  ;  and  on  Vronsky's  face,  usually  so 
impassive  and  calm,  she  remarked  that  mingled  expies- 
sion  of  humility  and  fear,  which  strikes  one  in  an  intel- 
ligent dog,  conscious  of  having  done  wrong. 

If  Anna  smiled,  his  smile  replied ;  if  she  became 
thoughtful,  he  looked  serious.  An  almost  supernatural 
power  seemed  to  attract  Kitty's  gaze  to  Anna's  face. 
She  was  charming  in  her  simple  black  velvet ;  charming 
were  her  round  arms,  clasped  by  bracelets  ;  charming 
her  firm  neck,  encircled  with  pearls  ;  charming  her  dark, 
curly  locks  breaking  from  restraint ;  charming  the  slow 
and  graceful  movements  of  her  small  feet  and  hands ; 
charming  her  lovely  face,  full  of  animation  ;  but  in  all 
this  charm  there  was  something  terrible  and  cruel. 

Kitty  admired  her  more  than  ever,  and  ever  more  and 
more  her  pain  increased.  She  felt  crushed,  and  her  face 
told  the  story.  When  Vronsky  passed  her,  in  some  fig- 
ure of  the  mazurka,  he  hardly  knew  her,  so  much  had 
she  changed. 


"Lovely  ball,"  he  said,  so  as  to  say  something. 

"Yes,"  was  her  reply. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  mazurka,  in  going  through 
a  complicated  figure  recently  •invented  by  Korsunsky, 
Anna  went  to  the  center  of  the  circle,  and  called  out 
two  gentlemen  and  two  ladies ;  Kitty  was  one.  As  she 
approached  Anna,  she  looked  at  her  in  dismay,  Anna, 
half  shutting  her  eyes,  looked  at  her  with  a  smile,  and 
pressed  her  hand  ;  then  noticing  that  Kitty's  face,  reply- 
ing to  her  smile,  wore  an  expression  of  despair  and 
amazement,  she  turned  from  her  and  began  to  talk  to 
the  other  lady  in  animated  tones. 

.    "Yes,  there  is  some  terrible,  almost  infernal  attrac- 
tion about  her,"  said  Kitty  to  herself. 

Anna  did  not  wish  to  remain  to  supper,  but  the  host 

"Do  stay,  Anna  Arkadyevna,"  said  Korsunsky,  as 
she  stood  with  her  bare  arm  resting  on  the  sleeve  of  his 
coat.     "Such  a  cotillion  I  have  in  mind  !      Un  bijou  !'' 

And  the  master  of  the  house,  looking  on  with  a  smile, 
encouraged  his  efforts  to  detain  her, 

"  No,  I  cannot  stay,"  said  Anna,  also  smiling ;  but  in 
spite  of  her  smile  the  two  men  understood  by  the  deter- 
mination in  her  voice  that  she  would  not  stay. 

"  No,  for  I  have  danced  here  in  Moscow  at  this  single 
ball  more  than  all  winter  in  Petersburg,"  said  she, 
looking  at  Vronsky,  who  was  standing  near  her;  "one 
must  rest  before  a  journey." 

"  And  so  you  are  really  going  back  to-morrow  .!•  "  he 

"  Yes ;  I  think  so,"  replied  Anna,  as  if  surprised  at 
the  boldness  of  his  question.  But  as  she  said  this  to 
him,  the  brilliancy  of  her  eyes  and  of  her  smile  set  his 
heart  on  fire. 

Anna  Arkadyevna  did  not  stay  for  supper,  but  took 
her  departure. 



"Yes,  there  must  be  something  repellent,  even  re- 
pulsive, about  me,"  thought  Levin,  as  he  left  the  Shcher- 
batskys',  and  went  on  foot  in  search  of  his  brother.  "  I 
am  not  popular  with  men.  They  say  it  is  pride.  No, 
I  am  not  proud  ;  if  I  had  been  proud,  I  should  not  have 
put  myself  in  my  present  situation." 

And  he  imagined  himself  Vronsky,  happy,  popular, 
calm,  witty,  who  had  apparently  never  put  himself  in 
such  a  terrible  position  as  he  was  in  on  that  evening. 

"  Yes,  she  naturally  chose  him,  and  I  have  no  right 
to  complain  about  any  one  or  any  thing.  I  myself  am 
to  blame.  What  right  had  I  to  think  that  she  would 
ever  unite  her  life  with  mine  ?  Who  am  I  ?  and  what 
am  I?      A  man  useful  to  no  one  —  a  good-for-nothing." 

Then  the  memory  of  his  brother  Nikolai'  came  back 
to  him. 

"  Was  he  not  right  in  saying  that  everything  in  the 
world  was  miserable  and  wretched  ?  Have  we  been, 
and  are  we,  just  in  our  judgment  of  brother  Nikolai? 
Of  course,  from  the  point  of  view  of  Prokofi,  who  saw 
him  drunk  and  in  ragged  clothes,  he  is  a  miserable  crea- 
ture ;  but  I  judge  him  differently.  I  know  his  heart, 
and  I  know  that  we  are  alike.  And  I,  instead  of  going 
to  find  him,  have  been  out  dining,  and  to  this  reception  !  " 

Levin  went  to  a  street-lamp  and  read  his  brother's 
address,  which  was  written  on  a  slip  of  paper,  and  called 
an  izvoshchik.  All  the  long  way  he  vividly  recalled  one 
by  one  the  well-known  incidents  of  his  brother  Nikolai's 
life.  He  remembered  how  at  the  university,  and  for  a 
year  after  his  graduation,  he  had  lived  like  a  monk  not- 
withstanding the  ridicule  of  his  comrades,  strictly  de- 
voted to  all  forms  of  religion,  services,  fasts,  turning 
his  back  on  all  pleasures,  and  especially  women  ;  and 
then  how  he  had  suddenly  turned  around,  and  fallen 
into  the  company  of  people  of  the  lowest  lives,  and 
entered  upon  a  course  of  dissipation  and  debauchery. 
He   remembered    his   conduct   toward  a  lad  whom  he 


had  taken  from  the  country  to  bring  up,  and  whom  he 
whipped  so  severely  in  a  fit  of  anger  that  he  narrowly 
escaped  being  transported  for  mayhem.  He  remem- 
bered his  conduct  toward  a  swindler  to  whom  he  owed 
a  gambling  debt  and  in  payment  of  it  had  given  him  his 
note,  and  whom  he  had  caused  to  be  arrested  on  the 
charge  of  cheating  him  ;  this  was,  in  fact,  money  that 
Sergef  Ivanuitch  had  just  paid.  Then  he  remembered 
the  night  spent  by  Nikolai  at  the  station-house  on 
account  of  a  spree.  He  remembered  the  scandalous 
lawsuit  against  his  brother  Sergef  Ivanuitch,  because 
Sergei  had  refused  to  pay  his  share  of  their  mother's 
estate ;  and  finally  he  recalled  his  last  adventure,  when, 
after  he  had  gone  to  take  a  position  at  the  Western  fron- 
tier, he  was  dismissed  for  assaulting  a  superior 

All  this  was  detestable,  but  it  did  not  seem  nearly  so 
odious  to  Levin  as  it  would  have  been  to  those  who  did 
not  know  Nikolaf,  did  not  know  his  history,  did  not 
know  his  heart. 

Levin  remembered  how  at  the  time  when  Nikolai'  was 
occupied  with  his  devotions,  his  fastings,  his  priests,  his 
ecclesiastical  observances,  when  he  was  seeking  to  curb 
his  passionate  nature  by  religion,  no  one  had  aided  him, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  every  one,  even  himself,  had  made 
sport  of  him  ;  they  had  mocked  him,  nicknamed  him 
Noah,  the  monk !  Then,  when  he  had  fallen,  no  one 
had  helped  him,  but  all  had  turned  from  him  with  hor- 
ror and  disgust.  Levin  felt  that  his  brother  Nikolaif  at 
the  bottom  of  his  heart,  in  spite  of  all  the  deformity  of 
his  life,  was  not  so  very  much  worse  than  those  who 
despised  him.  He  was  not  to  blame  for  having  been 
born  with  his  unrestrainable  character  and  his  peculi- 
arities of  intellect.     He  had  always  had  good  impulses. 

"  I  will  tell  him  everything,  and  I  will  make  him  tell 
me  everything,  and  show  him  that  I  love  him  and  there- 
fore understand  him,"  said  Levin  to  himself,  and  about 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  evening  he  bade  the  driver  take 
him  to  the  hotel  indicated  on  the  address. 

"Upstairs,  No.  12  and  13, "-said  the  Swiss,  in  reply  to 
Levin's  question. 


•'  Is  he  at  home  ? " 


The  door  of  No.  12  was  half  open,  and  from  the  room 
came  the  dense  fumes  of  cheap,  poor  tobacco,  and  a 
voice  unknown  to  Levin  was  heard  speaking  ;  but  Levin 
instantly  knew  his  brother  was  there ;  he  recognized 
his  cough. 

When  he  reached  the  door,  the  unknown  voice  was 
saying :  — 

"All  depends  on  whether  the  affair  is  conducted  in  a 
proper  and  rational  manner." 

Konstantin  Levin  glanced  through  the  doorway,  and 
saw  that  the  speaker  was  a  young  man,  in  a  peasant's 
sleeveless  coat,  and  with  an  enormous  mop  of  hair  on 
his  head.  On  the  divan  was  sitting  a  young  woman, 
with  pock-marked  face,  and  dressed  in  a  woolen  gown 
without  collar  or  cuffs.  His  brother  was  not  to  be  seen, 
A  pain  shot  through  Konstantin's  heart  to  think  of  the 
strange  people  with  whom  his  brother  associated.  No 
one  heard  him  ;  and,  while  he  was  removing  his  galoshes, 
he  listened  to  what  the  man  in  the  sleeveless  coat  was 
saying.     He  was  speaking  of  some  enterprise. 

"  Well !  the  Devil  take  the  privileged  classes  !  "  said 
his  brother's  voice,  after  a  fit  of  coughing.  "  Masha, 
see  if  you  can't  get  us  something  to  eat,  and  bring  some 
wine  if  there 's  any  left ;  if  not,  go  for  some." 

The  woman  arose,  and  as  she  came  out  from  behind 
the  screen  she  saw  Konstantin. 

"  A  gentleman  here,  Nikolai"  Dmitritch,"  she  cried. 

"What  is  wanted?"  said  the  voice  of  Nikolaf  Levin, 

"It's  I,"  replied  Konstantin,  appearing  at  the  door. 

"Who's  /.^"  repeated  Nikolai's  voice,  still  more 

Then  he  was  heard  quickly  rising  and  stumbling 
against  something,  and  Konstantin  saw  before  him  at 
the  door  his  brother's  well-known  figure,  still  remark- 
able by  reason  of  his  shyness  and  ill  health  —  infirm, 
tall,  thin,  and  bent,  with  great  startled  eyes. 

He  was  still  thinner  than  when  Konstantin  had  last 


seen  him,  three  years  before.  He  wore  a  short  over- 
coat.  His  hands  and  his  bony  frame  seemed  to  him 
more  colossal  than  ever.  His  hair  had  grown  thinner, 
but  the  same  stiff  mustaches  hid  his  lips,  the  same  eyes 
glared  at  his  visitor  uncannily  and  naively. 

"  Ah,  Kostia !  "  he  suddenly  cried,  recognizing  his 
brother,  and  his  eyes  shone  with  joy.  But  the  same 
instant  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  younger  man,  and  made 
a  quick,  convulsive  motion  of  his  head  and  neck,  as  if 
his  cravat  choked  him,  a  gesture  well  known  to  Kon- 
stantin  ;  and  an  entirely  different  expression,  wild,  and 
bitter,  and  expressive  of  martyrdom,  came  into  his 
sunken  face. 

"  I  wrote  both  to  you  and  to  Sergei"  Ivanuitch  that  I 
do  not  know  you,  nor  wish  to  know  you.  What  do  you 
want ;  what  does  either  of  you  want .-'  " 

He  was  not  at  all  as  Konstantin  had  imagined  him. 
The  hardest  and  vilest  elements  of  his  character,  which 
had  made  any  relations  with  him  difficult,  had  faded 
from  Konstantin  Levin's  memory  whenever  he  thought 
about  him  ;  and  now,  when  he  saw  his  face  and  the 
characteristic  convulsive  motions  of  his  head,  he  remem- 
bered it  all. 

"  But  I  wanted  nothing  of  you  except  to  see  you,"  he 
replied  timidly.     **  I  only  came  to  see  you." 

His  brother's  diffidence  apparently  disarmed  Nikolai. 
His  lips  relaxed. 

"  Ah  !  did  you  .-'  "  said  he.  "  Well !  come  in,  sit  down. 
Do  you  want  some  supper  ?  Masha,  bring  enough  for 
three.  No,  hold  on  1  Do  you  know  who  this  is  .'' "  he 
asked  his  brother,  pointing  to  the  young  man  in  the 
peasant's  coat.  "This  gentleman  is  Mr.  Kritsky,  a 
friend  of  mine  from  Kief,  a  very  remarkable  man.  It 
seems  the  police  are  after  him,  because  he  is  not  a 

And  he  looked,  as  his  habit  was,  at  all  who  were  in 
the  room.  Then,  seeing  that  the  woman,  who  stood  at 
the  door,  was  about  to  leave,  he  shouted  :  — 

"Wait,  I  tell  you." 

Then,    in    his    extravagant,    incoherent    manner    of 


speech,  which  Konstantin  knew  so  well,  he  began  to 
tell  his  brother  the  whole  story  of  Kritsky's  life ;  how 
he  had  been  driven  from  the  university,  because  he  had 
tried  to  found  an  aid  society  and  Sunday-schools  among 
the  students ;  how  afterwards  he  had  been  appointed 
teacher  in  one  of  the  public  schools,  only  to  be  dis- 
missed ;  and  how  finally  he  had  been  tried  for  something 
or  other. 

"Were  you  at  the  University  of  Kief?"  asked  Kon- 
stantin of  Kritsky,  in  order  to  break  the  awkward  silence 
that  followed. 

"  Yes,  I  was  at  Kief,"  replied  Kritsky,  curtly,  with  a 

"  And  this  woman,"  cried  Nikolai'  Levin,  pointing  to 
the  girl,  "is  the  companion  of  my  life,  Marya  Niko- 
layevna.  I  took  her  from  a  house,"  —  he  said,  stretch- 
ing out  his  neck,  —  "  but  I  love  her,  and  I  esteem  her ; 
and  all  who  want  to  know  me,"  he  added,  raising  his 
voice  and  scowling,  "  must  love  her  and  esteem  her. 
She  is  just  the  same  as  my  wife,  just  the  same.  So 
now  you  know  with  whom  you  have  to  do.  And  if  you 
think  that  you  lower  yourself,  there 's  the  door  !  "  ^  And 
again  his  eyes  looked  at  them  all  questioningly. 

"I  do  not  understand  how  I  should  lower  myself." 

"  All  right,  Masha,  bring  us  up  enough  for  three,  — 

some  vodka  and  wine No,  wait ; ....  no  matter,  though ; 



"As  you  see,"  continued  NikolaT  Levin,  frowning,  and 
speaking  with  effort.  It  was  evidently  hard  for  him  to 
make  up  his  mind  what  to  do  or  say.  "But  do  you 
see  .^"  ....and  he  pointed  to  the  corner  of  the  room, 
where  lay  some  iron  bars  attached  to  straps.  "  Do  you 
see  that }     That  is  the  beginning  of  a  new  work  which 

^  He  quotes  the  riming  phrase  :    Tai  vot  Bog  a  vot  forog  (or,  vot  tebyt 
Bog,  a  vot  tebye  porog)  which  expanded  may  mean,  "Stay  if  you  like  and 
God  be  with  you,  but  yonder  is  the  threshold !  " 
VOL.  I.  —  8 


we  are  undertaking.  This  work  belongs  to  a  productive 
labor  association." .... 

Konstantin  scarcely  listened :  he  was  looking  at  his 
brother's  sick,  consumptive  face,  and  he  grew  more  and 
more  sorry  for  him,  and  he  could  not  compel  himself  to 
listen  to  what  his  brother  was  saying  about  the  labor 
association.  He  saw  that  the  labor  association  was  only 
an  anchor  of  safety  to  keep  him  from  absolute  self- 
abasement.     Nikolai'  went  on  to  say  :  — 

"  You  know  that  capital  is  crushing  the  laborer :  with 
us  the  laboring  classes,  the  muzhiks,  bear  the  whole 
weight  of  toil ;  and  no  matter  how  they  exert  them- 
selves, they  can  never  get  above  their  cattle-like  condi- 
tion. All  the  profits  created  by  their  productive  labor, 
by  which  they  could  better  their  lot  and  procure  for  them- 
selves leisure,  and  therefore  instruction,  all  their  super- 
fluous profits  are  swallowed  up  by  the  capitalists.  And 
society  is  so  constituted  that,  the  harder  they  work,  the 
more  the  proprietors  and  the  merchants  fatten  at  their 
expense,  while  they  remain  beasts  of  burden  still.  And 
this  order  of  things  must  be  changed,"  said  he,  in  con- 
clusion, and  looked  questioningly  at  his  brother. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  replied  Konstantin,  looking  at  the 
pink  spots  which  burned  in  his  brother's  hollow  cheeks. 

"And  now  we  are  organizing  an  artel  of  locksmiths 
where  all  will  be  in  common,  —  work,  profits,  and  even 
the  tools." 

"  Where  will  this  artel  be  situated  } "  asked  Kon- 

"In  the  village  of  Vozdremo,  government  of  Kazan." 

"  Yes  ;  but  why  in  a  village  ?  In  the  villages,  it  seems 
to  me,  there  is  plenty  of  work :  why  associated  lock- 
smiths in  a  village  .-•  " 

"Because  the  muzhiks  are  serfs,  just  as  much  as  they 
ever  were,  and  you  and  Sergef  Ivanuitch  don't  like  it 
because  we  want  to  free  them  from  this  slavery,"  replied 
Nikolaif,  vexed  by  his  brother's  question. 

While  he  spoke,  Konstantin  was  looking  about  the 
melancholy,  dirty  room  ;  he  sighed,  and  his  sigh  seemed 
to  make  Nikolai'  still  more  angry. 


**  I  know  the  aristocratic  prejudices  of  such  men  as 
you  and  Sergef  Ivanuitch.  I  know  that  he  is  spending 
all  the  strength  of  his  mind  in  defense  of  the  evils  that 
crush  us." 

"  No  !  but  why  do  you  speak  of  Sergef  Ivanuitch  ?  " 
asked  Levin,  smiling. 

"  Sergei  Ivanuitch  }  This  is  why  !  "  cried  NikolaY,  at 
the  mention  of  Sergef  Ivanuitch  —  "  this  is  why  ! .... 
yet  what  is  the  good  .-*  tell  me  this  —  what  did  you  come 
here  for  ?  You  despise  all  this  ;  very  good  !  Go  away, 
for  God's  sake,"  he  cried,  rising  from  his  chair,  —  "  go 
away  !  go  away  !  " 

"  I  don't  despise  anything,"  said  Konstantin,  gently ; 
"  I  only  refrain  from  discussing." 

At  this  moment  Marya  Nikolayevna  came  in.  Niko- 
laY looked  at  her  angrily,  but  she  quickly  stepped  up  to 
him  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear. 

"I  am  not  well,  I  easily  become  irritable,"  he  ex- 
plained, growing  calmer,  and  breathing  with  difificulty, 
"and  you  just  spoke  to  me  about  Sergei  Ivanuitch  and 
his  article.  It  is  so  rubbishy,  so  idle,  so  full  of  error. 
How  can  a  man,  who  knows  nothing  about  justice, 
write  about  it }  Have  you  read  his  article  } "  said  he, 
turning  to  Kritsky,  and  then,  going  to  the  table,  he 
brushed  off  the  half-rolled  cigarettes  so  as  to  clear  away 
a  little  space. 

"  I  have  not  read  it,"  replied  Kritsky,  gloomily,  evi- 
dently not  wishing  to  take  part  in  the  conversation. 

"  Why .'' "  cried  Nikolai',  irritably,  still  addressing 

"  Because  I  don't  consider  it  necessary  to  waste  my 
time  on  it." 

"  That  is,  excuse  me  —  how  do  you  know  that  it  would 
be  a  waste  of  time  ?  For  many  people  this  article  is 
inaccessible,  because  it  is  above  them.  But  I  find  i'. 
different ;  I  sec  the  thoughts  through  and  through,  and 
know  wherein  it  is  weak." 

No  one  replied.    Kritsky  slowly  arose,  and  took  his  hat 

"Won't  you  take  some  lunch  .^  Well,  good-by ! 
Come  to-morrow  with  the  locksmith." 


Kritsky  had  hardly  left  the  room,  when  Nikolai  smiled 
and  winked. 

"  He  is  to  be  pitied  ;  but  I  see  .... " 

Just  at  that  instant  Kritsky,  calling  at  the  door,  inter- 
rupted him. 

"  What  do  you  want  ? "  he  asked,  joining  him  in  the 

Left  alone  with  Marya  Nikolayevna,  Levin  said  to 
her :  — 

"Have  you  been  long  with  my  brother.-'" 

"This  is  the  second  year.  His  health  has  become 
very  feeble ;  he  drinks  a  great  deal,"  she  said. 

"What  do  you  mean .-'  " 

"  He  drinks  vodka,  and  it  is  bad  for  him." 

"  Does  he  drink  too  much  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  she,  looking  timidly  toward  the  door 
where  Nikolai  Levin  was  just  entering. 

"  What  were  you  talking  about  y  he  demanded,  with 
a  scowl,  and  looking  from  one  to  the  other  with  angry 
eyes.     "Tell  me." 

"  Oh  !  nothing,"  replied  Konstantin,  in  confusion. 

"  You  don't  want  to  answer  .-*  all  right !  don't.  But 
you  have  no  business  to  be  talking  with  her ;  she  is  a 
girl,  you  a  gentleman,"  he  shouted,  craning  out  his  neck. 
"I  see  that  you  have  understood  everything,  and  judged 
everything,  and  that  you  look  with  grief  on  the  errors 
of  my  ways." 

He  went  on  speaking,  raising  his  voice. 

"  Nikolaf  Dmitritch  !  Nikolai'  Dmitritch !  "  whispered 
Marya  Nikolayevna,  coming  close  to  him. 

"Well!  very  good,  very  good Supper,  then?  ah! 

here  it  is,"  he  said,  seeing  a  servant  entering  with  a 

"  Here !  put  it  here  !  "  he  said  crossly ;  then,  taking 
the  vodka,  he  poured  out  a  glass,  and  drank  it  eagerly. 

"  Will  you  have  a  drink  ? "  he  asked  his  brother,  im- 
mediately growing  lively. 

"  Well !  no  more  about  Sergei  Ivanuitch  1  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you.  No  matter  what  people  say,  we  are  no 
longer   strangers.     Come  now  I  drink !     Tell  me  what 


you  are  doing,"  he  said,  greedily  munching  a  piece  of 
bread,  and  pouring  out  a  second  glass.  "  How  are  you 
living  ?  " 

"  I  live  alone  in  the  country,  as  I  always  have,  and 
busy  myself  with  farming,"  replied  Konstantin,  looking 
with  terror  at  the  eagerness  with  which  his  brother  ate 
and  drank,  and  trying  to  hide  his  impressions. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  married  .-' " 

"  I  have  not  come  to  that  yet,"  replied  Konstantin, 
turning  red. 

"Why  so.'*  For  me — it's  all  over!  I  have  wasted 
my  life  !  This  I  have  said,  and  always  shall  say,  that, 
if  they  had  given  me  my  share  of  the  estate  when  I 
needed  it,  my  whole  life  v/ould  have  been  different." 

Konstantin  hastened  to  change  the  conversation. 

"  Did  you  know  that  your  Vanyuskka  ^  is  with  me  at 
Pokrovskoye  as  book-keeper }  "  he  said. 

Nikola'f  craned  out  his  neck  and  wondered. 

"  Yes,  tell  me  what  is  doing  at  Pokrovskoye.  Is  the 
house  just  the  same .''  and  the  birch  trees  and  our  study- 
room  .-•  Is  Filipp,  the  gardener,  still  alive .''  How  I  re- 
member the  summer-house  and  the  divan! ....  Just  look 
here  I  don't  let  anything  in  the  house  be  changed,  but 
hurry  up  and  get  married  and  begin  to  live  as  you  used 
to.  Then  I  will  come  to  visit  you  if  your  wife  will  be 

"Then  come  back  with  me  now,"  said  Konstantin. 
"  How  well  we  should  get  on  together  !  " 

"  I  would  come  if  I  knew  I  should  not  meet  Sergei 

"  You  would  not  meet  him  ;  I  live  absolutely  indepen- 
dent of  him." 

"  Yes  ;  but,  whatever  you  say,  you  must  choose  be- 
tween him  and  me,"  said  Nikolai",  looking  timorously  in 
his  brother's  eyes. 

This  timidity  touched  Konstantin. 

"  If  you  want  to  hear  my  whole  confession  as  to  this 
matter,  I  will  tell  you  that  I  take  sides  neither  with  you 
nor  with  him  in  your  quarrel.  You  are  both  in  the 
1  Vanyushka  is  the  diminutive  of  Ivan,  as  Jack  is  of  John, 


wrong ;  but  in  your  case  the  wrong  is  external,  while  in 
his  the  wrong  is  inward." 

"  Ha,  ha  !  Do  you  understand  it  ?  do  you  understand 
it  ? "  cried  Nikolai',  with  an  expression  of  joy. 

"But  if  you  would  like  to  know,  personally  I  value 
your  friendship  higher  because...." 

"Why?  why.?" 

Konstantin  could  not  say  that  it  was  because  Nikolai 
was  wretched,  and  needed  his  friendship;  but  Nikolaf 
understood  that  that  was  the  very  thing  he  meant,  and, 
frowning  darkly,  he  betook  himself  to  the  vodka. 

"  Enough,  Nikolai"  Dmitritch  !  "  cried  Marya  Nikola- 
yevna,  laying  her  great  pudgy  hand  pn  the  decanter. 

"  Let  me  alone  !  don't  bother  me,  or  I  '11  strike  you," 
he  cried. 

Marya  Nikolayevna  smiled  with  her  gentle  and  good- 
natured  smile,  which  pacified  Nikolai",  and  she  took  the 

"There  !  Do  you  think  that  she  does  not  understand 
things.''"  said  Nikola"i".  "She  understands  this  thing 
better  than  all  of  you.  Is  n't  there  something  about  her 
good  and  gentle  .''  " 

"  Have  n't  you  ever  been  in  Moscow  before  ? "  said 
Konstantin,  in  order  to  say  something  to  her. 

"  There  now,  don't  say  via  [you]  to  her.  It  frightens 
her.  No  one  said  vui  to  her  except  the  justice  of  the 
peace,  when  they  had  her  up  because  she  wanted  to 
escape  from  the  house  of  ill-fame  where  she  was.  My 
God  !  how  senseless  everything  is  in  this  world  ! "  he 
suddenly  exclaimed.  "These  new  institutions,  these 
justices  of  the  peace,  the  zemstro,  what  abominations!" 

And  he  began  to  relate  his  experiences  with  the  new 

Konstantin  listened  to  him  ;  and  the  criticisms  on  the 
absurdity  of  the  new  institutions,  which  he  had  himself 
often  expressed,  now  that  he  heard  them  from  his 
brother's  lips,  seemed  disagreeable  to  him. 

"We  shall^understand  it  all  in  the  next  world,"  he 
said  jestingly. 

"  In  the  next  world  .-*     Och  !  I  don't  like  your  next 


world  ;  I  don't  like  it,"  he  repeated,  fixing  his  timid, 
haggard  eyes  on  his  brother's  face.  "  And  yet  it  would 
seem  good  to  go  from  these  abominations,  these  entan- 
glements, from  this  unnatural  state  of  things,  from  my- 
self ;  but  I  am  afraid  of  death,  horribly  afraid  of  death  !  " 
He  shuddered.  "  There  !  drink  s  jmething !  Would  you 
like  some  champagne  ?  or  would  you  rather  go  out  some- 
where ?  Let 's  go  and  see  the  gipsies.  You  know  I  am 
very  fond  of  gipsies  and  Russian  songs." 

His  speech  had  begun  to  grow  thick,  and  he  hurried 
from  one  subject  to  another.  Konstantin,  with  Masha's 
aid,  persuaded  him  to  stay  at  home ;  and  they  put  him 
on  his  bed  completely  drunk. 

Masha  promised  to  write  Konstantin  in  case  of  need, 
and  to  persuade  Nikolai  Levin  to  come  and  live  with  his 


The  next  forenoon  Levin  left  Moscow,  and  toward 
evening  was  at  home.  On  the  journey  he  talked  with 
those  near  him  in  the  train  about  politics,  about  the  new 
railroads ;  and,  just  as  in  Moscow,  he  was  overcome  by 
the  chaos  of  conflicting  opinions,  self-dissatisfaction,  and 
a  sense  of  shame.  But  when  he  got  out  at  his  station, 
and  perceived  his  one-eyed  coachman,  Ignat,  with  his 
kaftan  collar  turned  up;  when  he  saw,  in  the  dim  light 
that  fell  through  the  station  windows,  his  covered  sledge 
and  his  horses  with  their  tied-up  tails,  and  their  harness 
with  its  rings  and  fringes ;  when  Ignat,  as  he  was  tuck- 
ing in  the  robes,  told  him  all  the  news  of  the  village, 
about  the  coming  of  the  contractor,  and  how  Pava  the 
cow  had  calved,  — then  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  chaos 
resolved  itself  a  little,  and  his  shame  and  dissatisfaction 
passed  away.  This  he  felt  at  the  very  sight  of  Ignat 
and  his  horses  ;  but,  as  soon  as  he  had  put  on  his  sheep- 
skin tulup,  which  he  found  in  the  sleigh,  and  took  his 
seat  in  the  sleigh  comfortably  wrapped  up,  and  drove 
off  thinking  what  arrangement  he  should  have  to  make 


in  the  village,  and  at  the  same  time  examining  the  off 
horse,  Donskaya,  which  used  to  be  his  saddle-horse,  a 
jaded  but  mettlesome  steed,  he  began  to  view  his  expe- 
riences in  an  absolutely  different  light. 

He  felt  himself  again,  and  no  longer  wished  to  be  a 
different  person.  He  only  wished  to  be  better  than  he 
had  ever  been  before.  In  the  first  place,  he  resolved 
from  that  day  forth  that  he  would  never  expect  extraor- 
dinary joys,  such  as  marriage  had  promised  to  bring  to 
him,  and  therefore  he  would  never  again  despise  the 
present ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  he  would  never  allow 
himself  to  be  led  away  by  low  passion,  the  remem- 
brances of  which  so  tortured  him  while  he  was  deciding 
to  make  his  proposal.  And  lastly,  as  he  thought  of  his 
brother  Nikolaf,  he  resolved  that  he  would  never  again 
forget  him,  but  that  he  would  keep  track  of  him  and  not 
let  him  out  of  sight,  so  that  he  might  be  in  readiness  to 
aid  him  whenever  the  evil  moment  arrived,  and  that 
seemed  likely  to  be  very  soon. 

Then  the  conversation  about  communism,  which  he 
had  so  lightly  treated  with  his  brother,  came  back  to 
him,  and  made  him  reflect.  A  reform  of  economic  con- 
ditions seemed  to  him  nonsense,  but  he  always  felt  the 
unfair  difference  between  his  own  superfluity  and  the 
poverty  of  the  people,  and  in  order  that  he  might  feel 
perfectly  right,  he  now  vowed  that  though  hitherto  he 
had  worked  hard,  and  lived  economically,  he  would  in 
the  future  work  still  harder,  and  permit  himself  even  less 
luxury  than  ever.  And  all  this  seemed  to  him  so  easy 
to  accomplish  that,  throughout  the  drive  from  the  sta- 
tion, he  was  the  subject  of  the  pleasantest  illusions. 
With  a  hearty  feeling  of  hope  for  a  new  and  better  life, 
he  reached  home  just  as  the  clock  was  striking  ten. 

From  the  windows  of  the  room  occupied  by  his  old 
nurse,  Agafya  Mikhaflovna,  who  fulfilled  the  functions 
of  housekeeper,  the  light  fell  on  the  snow-covered  walk 
before  his  house.  She  was  not  yet  asleep.  Kuzma, 
wakened  by  her>  hurried  down,  barefooted  and  sleepy, 
to  open  the  door.  Laska,  the  setter,  almost  knocking 
Kuzma  down  in  her  desire  to  get  ahead  of  him,  ran  to 


meet  her  master,  and  jumped  upon  him,  trying  to  place 
her  fore  paws  on  his  breast. 

"  You  are  back  very  soon,  batyushka,"  said  Agafya 

"  I  was  bored,  Agafya  Mikharlovna ;  't  is  good  to  go 
visiting,  but  it 's  better  at  home,"  said  he.  And  he 
went  into  his  library. 

The  library  slowly  grew  light  as  the  candle  that  was 
brought  burnt  up.  The  familiar  details  little  by  little 
came  into  sight  —  the  great  antlers,  the  shelves  lined 
with  books,  the  mirror,  the  stove  with  a  hole  which  ought 
long  ago  to  have  been  repaired,  the  ancestral  divan, 
the  great  table,  and  on  the  table  an  open  book,  a  broken 
ash-tray,  a  note-book  filled  with  his  writing. 

As  he  saw  all  these  things,  for  a  moment  the  doubt 
arose  in  his  mind  if  it  would  be  possible  to  bring  about 
this  new  life  which  he  had  dreamed  of  during  his  journey. 
All  these  signs  of  his  past  seemed  to  say  to  him,  '  No, 
thou  shalt  not  leave  us  !  thou  shalt  not  become  another; 
but  thou  shalt  still  be  as  thou  hast  always  been, — with 
thy  doubts,  thy  everlasting  self-dissatisfaction,  thy  idle 
efforts  at  reform,  thy  failures,  and  thy  perpetual  striv- 
ing for  a  happiness  which  will  never  be  thine.' 

But  while  these  external  objects  spoke  to  him  thus, 
a  different  voice  whispered  to  his  soul,  bidding  him  cease 
to  be  a  slave  to  his  past,  and  declaring  that  a  man  has 
every  possibility  within  him.  And,  listening  to  this 
voice,  he  went  to  one  side  of  the  room,  where  he  found 
two  forty-pound  dumb-bells.  And  he  began  to  practise 
his  gymnastic  exercises  with  them,  endeavoring  to  bring 
himself  into  a  condition  of  vigor.  At  the  door  there  was 
a  noise  of  steps.     He  hastily  put  down  the  dumb-bells. 

The  intendant  ^  came  in  and  said  that,  thanks  to 
God,  everything  was  all  right,  but  he  confessed  that 
the  buckwheat  in  the  new  drying-room  had  got  burnt. 
This  provoked  Levin.  This  new  drying-room  he  had 
himself  built,  and  partially  invented.  But  the  inten- 
dant had  been  entirely  opposed  to  it,  and  now  he  an- 
nounced with  ill-concealed  triumph  that  the  buckwheat 

^  Prikashchik, 


was  burnt.  Levin  was  sure  that  it  was  because  he  had 
neglected  the  precautions  a  hundred  times  suggested. 
He   grew  angry,  and  reprimanded  the  intendant. 

But  there  was  one  fortunate  and  important  event : 
Pava,  his  best,  his  most  beautiful  cow,  which  he  had 
bought  at  the  cattle-show,  had  calved. 

**  Kuzma,  give  me  my  tulup.  And  you,"  said  he  to 
the  intendant,  "get  a  lantern.     I  will  go  and  see  her." 

The  stable  for  the  cattle  was  immediately  behind  the 
house.  Crossing  the  courtyard,  where  the  snow  was 
heaf^ed  under  the  lilac  bushes,  he  stepped  up  to  the 
stable.  As  he  opened  the  frosty  door,  he  was  met  by 
the  warm  fumes  of  manure,  and  the  cows,  astonished  at 
the  unwonted  light  of  the  lantern,  stirred  on  their  fresh 
straw.  The  light  fell  on  the  broad  black  back  of  his 
piebald  Holland  cow.  Berkut,  the  bull,  with  a  ring  in 
his  nose,  tried  to  get  to  his  feet,  but  changed  his  mind, 
and  only  snorted  as  they  passed  by. 

The  beautiful  Pava,  huge  as  a  hippopotamus,  was  ly- 
ing near  her  calf,  snuffing  at  it,  and  protecting  it  against 
those  who  would  come  too  close. 

Levin  entered  the  stall,  examined  Pava,  and  lifted  the 
calf,  spotted  with  red  and  white,  on  its  long,  awkward 
legs.  Pava  began  to  low  with  anxiety,  but  was  re- 
assured when  the  calf  was  restored  to  her,  and  began 
to  lick  it  with  her  rough  tongue.  The  calf  hid  its  nose 
under  its  mother's  side,  and  frisked  its  tail. 

"Bring  the  light  this  way,  Feodor,  this  way,"  said 
Levin,  examining  the  calf.  "  Like  its  mother,  but  its 
color  is  like  the  sire's,  very  pretty !  long  hair  and 
prettily  spotted.  Vasili  Feodorovitch,  is  n't  it  a  beauty.'' " 
he  said,  turning  to  his  intendant,  forgetting,  in  his  joy 
over  the  new-born  calf,  the  grief  caused  by  the  burning 
of  his  wheat. 

"  Why  should  it  be  homely  ?  But  Semyon  the  con- 
tractor was  here  the  day  after  you  left.  It  will  be 
necessary  to  come  to  terms  with  him,  Konstantin 
Dmitritch,"  replied  the  intendant.  "  I  have  already 
spoken  to  you  about  the  machine." 

This  single  phrase  brought  Levin  back  to  all  the  de- 


tails  of  his  enterprise,  which  was  great  and  complicated  ; 
and  from  the  stable  he  went  directly  to  the  office,  and 
after  a  long  conversation  with  the  intendant  and  Semyon 
the  contractor,  he  went  back  to  the  house,  and  marched 
straight  up  into  the  drawing-room. 


Levin's  house  was  old  and  large,  but,  though  he  lived 
there  alone,  he  occupied  and  warmed  the  whole  of  it. 
He  knew  that  this  was  ridiculous  ;  he  knew  that  it  was 
bad,  and  contrary  to  his  new  plans  ;  but  this  house  was 
a  world  in  itself  to  him.  It  was  a  world  where  his  father 
and  mother  had  lived  and  died.  They  had  lived  a  life 
which,  for  Levin,  seemed  the  ideal  of  all  perfection,  and 
which  he  dreamed  of  renewing  with  his  own  wife,  with 
his  own  family. 

Levin  scarcely  remembered  his  mother.  But  this 
remembrance  was  sacred  ;  and  his  future  wife,  as  he 
imagined  her,  was  to  be  the  counterpart  of  the  ideally 
charming  and  adorable  woman,  his  mother.  For  him, 
love  for  a  woman  could  not  exist  outside  of  marriage ; 
but  he  imagined  the  family  relationship  first,  and  only 
afterwards  the  woman  who  would  be  the  center  of  the 
family.  His  ideas  about  marriage  were  therefore  es- 
sentially different  from  those  held  by  the  majority  of 
his  friends,  for  whom  it  was  only  one  of  innumerable 
social  affairs  ;  for  Levin  it  was  the  most  important  act 
of  his  life,  whereon  all  his  happiness  depended,  and  now 
he  must  renounce  it ! 

When  he  entered  the  little  parlor  where  he  always 
took  tea,  and  threw  himself  into  his  arm-chair  with  a 
book,  while  Agafya  Mikhailovna  brought  him  his  cup, 
and  sat  down  near  the  window,  saying  as  usual,  ''Well, 
I'll  sit  down,  batyushka,"  —  then  he  felt,  strangely 
enough,  that  he  had  not  renounced  his  day-dreams,  and 
that  he  could  not  live  without  them.  Were  it  Kitty  or 
another,  still  it  would  be.  He  read  his  book,  had  his 
mind  on  what  he  was  reading,  pausing  occasionally  to 


listen  to  Agafya  Mikhallovna's  unceasing  prattle,  but 
his  imagination  was  all  the  time  filled  with  those  varied 
pictures  of  family  happiness  which  hovered  before  him. 
He  felt  that  in  the  depths  of  his  soul  some  change,  some 
modification,  some  crystallization,  was  taking  place. 

He  listened  while  Agafya  Mikhailovna  told  how  Pro- 
khor  had  forgotten  God,  and,  instead  of  buying  a  horse 
with  the  money  which  Levin  had  given  him,  had  taken 
it  and  gone  on  a  spree,  and  beaten  his  wife  almost  to 
death  ;  and  while  he  listened  he  read  his  book,  and  again 
caught  the  thread  of  his  thoughts,  awakened  by  his 
reading.  It  was  a  book  by  Tyndall,  on  heat.  He  re- 
membered his  criticisms  on  Tyndall's  self-satisfaction  in 
the  cleverness  of  his  management  of  his  experiments 
and  on  his  lack  of  philosophical  views,  and  suddenly  a 
happy  thought  crossed  his  mind  :  — 

"  In  two  years  I  shall  have  two  Holland  cows  ;  per- 
haps Pava  herself  will  still  be  alive,  and  possibly  a  dozen 
of  Berkut's  daughters  will  have  been  added  to  the  herd, 
just  from  these  three  !     Splendid  !  " 

And  again  he  picked  up  his  book. 

"  Well !  very  good :  electricity  and  heat  are  one  and 
the  same  thing;  but  could  one  quantity  take  the  place 
of  the  other  in  the  equations  used  to  settle  this  problem.? 
No.  What  then  .-•  The  bond  between  all  the  forces  of  na- 
ture is  felt,  like  instinct When  Pavas  daughter  grows 

into  a  cow  with  red  and  white  spots,  what  a  herd  I  shall 
have  with  those  three  !  Admirable  !  And  my  wife  and  I 
will  go  out  with  our  guests  to  see  the  herd  come  in  ; .... 
and  my  wife  will  say,  '  Kostia  and  I  have  brought  this 
calf  up  just  like  a  child.'  —  *  How  can  this  interest  you 
so } '  the  guests  will  say,  '  All  that  interests  him 
interests  me  also.*....  But  who  will  s/ie  he?"  and  he 
began  to  think  of  what  had  happened  in  Moscow. — 
"Well!  What  is  to  be  done  about  it .-•....  I  am  not  to 
blame.  But  now  everything  will  be  different.  It  is 
foolishness  to  let  one's  past  life  dominate  the  present. 
One  must  struggle  to  live  better  —  much  better."..,. 

He  raised  his  head,  and  sank  into  thought.  Old 
Laska,  who  had  not  yet  got  over  her  delight  at  her 


master's  return,  had  been  barking  up  and  down  the 
courtyard.  She  came  into  the  room,  wagging  her  tail, 
and  bringing  the  freshness  of  the  open  air,  and  thrust 
her  head  under  his  hand,  and  begged  for  a  caress,  whin- 
ing plaintively. 

"  She  almost  talks,"  said  Agafya  Mikhailovna;  "she 
is  only  a  dog,  but  she  knows  just  as  well  that  her  master 
has  come  home,  and  is  sad." 

"Why  sad?" 

"Da!  don't  I  see  it,  batyushka?  It's  time  I  knew 
how  to  read  my  masters.  Grew  up  with  my  masters 
since  they  were  children!  No  matter,  batyushka;  your 
health  is  good  and  your  conscience  pure." 

Levin  looked  at  her  earnestly,  in  astonishment  that 
she  so  divined  his  thoughts. 

"And  shall  I  give  you  some  more  tea?"  said  she; 
and  taking  the  cup,  she  went  out. 

Laska  continued  to  nestle  her  head  in  her  master's 
hand.  He  caressed  her,  and  then  she  curled  herself  up 
around  his  feet,  like  a  ring,  laying  her  head  on  one  of 
her  hind  paws  ;  and,  as  a  proof  that  all  was  arranged  to 
suit  her,  she  opened  her  mouth  a  little,  let  her  tongue 
slip  out  between  her  aged  teeth,  and,  with  a  gentle  puff- 
ing of  her  lips,  gave  herself  up  to  beatific  repose.  Levin 
followed  all  of  her  movements. 

"  So  will  I !  "  he  said  to  himself;  "so  will  I!  no  mat- 
ter! all  will  be  well!" 


Early  on  the  morning  after  the  ball,  Anna  Arka- 
dyevna  sent  her  husband  a  telegram,  announcing  that 
she  was  going  to  leave  Moscow  that  day. 

"  No,  I  must,  I  must  go,"  she  said  to  her  sister-in-law, 
in  explanation  of  her  change  of  plan,  and  her  tone  signi- 
fied that  she  had  just  remembered  something  that  de- 
manded her  instant  attention.  "  No,  it  would  be  much 
better  if  I  could  go  tliis  morning." 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  did  not  dine  at  home,  but  he 


agreed  to  be  back  at  seven  o'clock  to  escort  his  sister  to 
the  train. 

Kitty  did  not  put  in  an  appearance,  but  sent  word 
that  she  had  a  headache.  Dolly  and  Anna  dined  alone 
with  the  children  and  the  English  governess.  Either 
the  children  were  fickle  or  they  were  very  sensitive  and 
felt  that  Anna  was  not  at  all  as  she  had  been  on  the 
day  when  they  had  taken  so  kindly  to  her,  that  she  no 
longer  cared  for  them,  for  they  suddenly  ceased  playing 
with  their  aunt,  seemed  to  lose  their  affection  for  her, 
and  cared  very  little  that  she  was  going  away. 

Anna  spent  the  whole  morning  in  making  the  prep- 
arations for  her  departure.  She  wrote  a  few  notes  to 
her  Moscow  acquaintances,  settled  her  accounts,  and 
packed.  To  Dolly  especially  it  seemed  that  she  was  not 
in  a  happy  frame  of  mind,  but  in  that  state  of  mental  agi- 
tation which  Dolly  knew  from  experience  arose,  not  with- 
out excellent  reason,  from  dissatisfaction  with  herself. 

After  dinner  Anna  went  to  her  room  to  dress,  and 
Dolly  followed  her. 

"  How  strange  you  are  to-day  !  "  said  Dolly. 

"  I .''  Do  you  think  so  ?  I  am  not  strange,  but  I  am 
cross.  This  is  common  with  me.  I  should  like  to  have 
a  good  cry.  It  is  very  silly,  but  it  will  pass  away,"  said 
Anna,  speaking  quickly,  and  hiding  her  blushing  face  in 
a  little  bag  where  she  was  packing  her  toilet  articles  and 
her  handkerchiefs.  Her  eyes  shone  with  tears  which  she 
could  hardly  keep  back.  "  I  was  so  loath  to  come  away 
from  Petersburg,  and  now  I  don't  want  to  go  back! " 

"You  came  here  and  you  did  a  lovely  thing,"  said 
Dolly,  attentively  observing  her. 

Anna  looked  at  her  with  eyes  wet  with  tears. 

"Don't  say  that,  Dolly.  I  have  done  nothing,  and 
could  do  nothing.  I  often  ask  myself  why  people  say 
things  to  spoil  me.  What  have  I  done .''  What  could  I 
do  ?  You  found  that  your  heart  had  enough  love  left  to 
forgive."  .... 

"  Without  you,  God  knows  what  would  have  been ! 
How  fortunate  you  are,  Anna!"  said  Dolly.  "All  is 
serene  and  pure  in  your  soul." 


"  Every  one  has  a  skeleton  in  his  closet,  as  the  Engb'sh 

"  What  skeleton  have  you,  pray  ?  In  you  everything 
is  so  serene." 

"  I  have  mine  !  "  cried  Anna,  suddenly  ;  and  an  unex- 
pected, crafty,  mocking  smile  hovered  over  her  lips  in 
spite  of  her  tears. 

"  Well !  in  your  case  the  skeleton  must  be  a  droll  one, 
and  not  grievous,"  replied  Dolly,  with  a  smile. 

"  No  ;  it  is  grievous  !  Do  you  know  why  I  go  to-day, 
and  not  to-morrow  ">.  This  is  a  confession  which  weighs 
me  down,  but  I  wish  to  make  it,"  said  Anna,  decidedly, 
sitting  down  in  an  arm-chair,  and  looking  Dolly  straight 
in  the  eyes. 

And  to  her  astonishment  she  saw  that  Anna  was 
blushing,  even  to  her  ears,  even  to  the  dark  curls  that 
played  about  the  back  of  her  neck. 

"  Yes  !  "  Anna  proceeded.  "  Do  you  know  why  Kitty 
did  not  come  to  dinner  }  She  is  jealous  of  me.  I  spoiled 
....  it  was  through  me  that  the  ball  last  night  was  a  tor- 
ment and  not  a  joy  to  her.  But  truly,  truly,  I  was  not 
to  blame, —or  not  much  to  blame,"  said  she,  with  a 
special  accent  on  the  word  nemnozJiko  —  not  much. 

"  Oh,  how  exactly  you  said  that  like  Stiva  !  "  remarked 
Dolly,  laughing. 

Anna  was  vexed. 

"  Oh,  no  !  Oh,  no  !  I  am  not  like  Stiva,"  said  she, 
frowning.  "  I  have  told  you  this  simply  because  I  do 
not  allow  myself,  for  an  instant,  to  doubt  myself." 

But  the  very  moment  that  she  said  these  words,  she 
perceived  how  untrue  they  were ;  she  not  only  doubted 
herself,  but  she  felt  such  emotion  at  the  thought  of 
Vronsky  that  she  took  her  departure  sooner  than  she 
otherwise  would,  so  that  she  might  not  meet  him  again. 

"Yes,  Stiva  told  me  that  you  danced  the  mazurka 
with  him,  and  that  he...." 

"You  cannot  imagine  how  ridiculously  it  turned  out. 
I  thought  only  to  help  along  the  match,  and  suddenly  it 
went  exactly  opposite.     Perhaps  against  my  will,  I ...." 

She  blushed,  and  did  not  finish  her  sentence. 


"  Oh  !  these  things  are  felt  instantly,"  said  Dolly, 

"  I  should  be  in  despair  if  I  felt  that  there  was  any- 
thing serious  on  his  part,"  interrupted  Anna;  "but  I 
am  convinced  that  all  this  will  be  quickly  forgotten, 
and  that  Kitty  will  not  long  be  angry  with  me." 

"  In  the  lirst  place,  Anna,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  should 
not  be  very  sorry  if  this  marriage  fell  through.  It  would 
be  vastly  better  for  it  to  stop  right  here  if  Vronsky  can 
fall  in  love  with  you  in  a  single  day." 

"  Oh  heavens  !  that  would  be  so  idiotic  !  "  said  Anna, 
and  again  an  intense  blush  of  satisfaction  overspread 
her  face  at  hearing  the  thought  that  occupied  her  ex- 
pressed in  words.  "  And  that  is  why  I  go  away,  after 
making  an  enemy  of  Kitty,  whom  I  loved  so  dearly. 
Akh  !  how  sweet  she  is  !  But  you  will  arrange  that, 
Dolly.?     Won't  you.?" 

Dolly  could  hardly  refrain  from  smiling.  She  loved 
Anna,  but  it  was  pleasant  to  her  to  discover  that  she 
also  had  her  weaknesses. 

"  An  enemy .?     That  cannot  be  !  " 

"  And  I  should  have  been  so  glad  to  have  you  all  love 
me  as  I  love  you  ;  but  now  I  love  you  all  more  than 
ever,"  said  Anna,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "Akh!  how 
absurd  I  am  to-day  !  " 

She  passed  her  handkerchief  over  her  eyes,  and  began 
to  get  ready. 

At  the  very  moment  of  her  departure  came  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch  with  rosy,  happy  face,  and  an  odor  of  wine 
and  cigars. 

Anna's  tender-heartedness  had  communicated  itself 
to  Dolly,  and,  when  she  kissed  her  for  the  last  time,  she 
whispered  :  — 

"  Think,  Anna !  what  you  have  done  for  me  !  I  shall 
never  forget.  And  remember  that  I  love  you,  and  al- 
ways shall  love  you  as  my  best  friend !  " 

"  I  don't  understand  why,"  replied  Anna,  kissing  her, 
and  struggling  with  her  tears. 

"  You  have  understood  me,  and  you  do  understand 
me.     Farewell,  my  dearest !  "  ^ 

*  Proshchai,  vioya  pretest  t 



"  Well  !  all  is  over,  and  thank  the  Lord  !  "  was  Anna's 
first  thought  after  she  had  said  good-by  to  her  brother, 
who  had  blocked  up  the  entrance  to  the  railway-carriage, 
even  after  the  third  bell  had  rung.  She  sat  down  on 
the  divanchik  next  Annushka,  her  maid,  and  began  to 
examine  the  feebly  lighted  compartment.  "Thank  the 
Lord !  to-morrow  I  shall  see  Serozha  and  Alekseif  Alek- 
sandrovitch,  and  my  good  and  commonplace  life  will 
begin  again  as  of  old." 

With  the  same  mental  preoccupation  that  had  pos- 
sessed her  all  that  day,  Anna  found  a  satisfaction  in 
attending  minutely  to  the  arrangements  for  the  journey. 
With  her  skilful  little  hands  she  opened  her  red  bag, 
and  took  out  a  cushion,  placed  it  on  her  knees,  wrapped 
her  feet  warmly,  and  composed  herself  comfortably. 

A  lady,  who  seemed  to  be  an  invalid,  had  already 
gone  to  sleep.  Two  other  ladies  entered  into  conversa. 
tion  with  Anna ;  and  a  fat,  elderly  dame,  well  wrapped 
up,  expressed  her  opinion  on  the  temperature.  Anna 
exchanged  a  few  words  with  the  ladies,  but,  not  taking 
any  interest  in  their  conversation,  asked  Annushka  for 
her  traveling-lamp,  placed  it  on  the  back  of  her  seat, 
and  took  from  her  bag  a  paper-cutter  and  an  English 
novel.  At  first  she  could  not  read  ;  the  going  and  com- 
ing and  the  general  bustle  disturbed  her ;  when  once 
the  train  had  started,  she  could  not  help  listening  to 
the  noises  :  the  snow  striking  against  the  window,  and 
sticking  to  the  glass ;  the  conductor,  as  he  passed  with 
the  snowflakes  melting  on  his  coat ;  the  remarks  about 
the  terrible  storm, — all  distracted  her  attention. 

Afterwards  it  became  more  monotonous  :  always  the 
same  jolting  and  jarring,  the  same  snow  on  the  window, 
the  same  sudden  changes  from  warmth  to  cold,  and  back 
to  warmth  again,  the  same  faces  in  the  dim  light,  and 
the  same  voices.  And  Anna  began  to  read,  and  to  fol- 
low what  she  was  reading. 

Annushka  was  already  asleep,  holding  the  little  red 


bag  on  her  knees  with  great,  clumsy  hands,  clad  in 
gloves,  one  of  which  was  torn. 

Anna  read,  and  understood  what  she  read ;  but  it 
was  not  pleasant  to  her  to  read,  in  other  words  to  enter 
into  the  lives  of  other  people.  She  had  too  keen  a 
desire  to  live  herself.  If  she  read  how  the  heroine  of 
her  story  took  care  of  the  sick,  she  would  have  liked 
to  go  with  noiseless  steps  into  the  sick-room.  If  she 
read  how  a  member  of  Parliament  made  a  speech,  she 
would  have  liked  to  make  that  speech.  If  she  read  how 
Lady  Mary  rode  after  the  hounds,  and  made  sport  of 
her  sister-in-law,  and  astonished  every  one  by  her  au- 
dacity, she  would  have  liked  to  do  the  same.  But  she 
could  do  nothing  ;  and  with  her  little  hands  she  clutched 
the  paper-cutter,  and  forced  herself  to  read  calmly. 

The  hero  of  her  novel  had  reached  the  summit  of  his 
English  ambition, — a  baronetcy  and  an  estate;  and 
Anna  felt  a  desire  to  go  with  him  to  this  estate,  when 
suddenly  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  ought  to  feel  a  sense 
of  shame,  and  that  she  ought  to  share  it.  But  why  should 
he  feel  ashamed  }  "  Why  should  I  feel  ashamed  } "  she 
asked  herself  with  astonishment  and  discontent.  She 
closed  the  book,  and,  leaning  back  against  the  chair, 
held  the  paper-cutter  tightly  in  both  hands. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of :  she  reviewed 
all  her  memories  of  her  visit  to  Moscow ;  they  were  all 
pleasant  and  good.  She  remembered  the  ball,  she 
remembered  Vronsky  and  his  humble  and  passionate 
face,  she  recalled  all  her  relations  with  him  ;  there  was 
nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.  But  at  the  same  time  in 
these  reminiscences  the  sense  of  shame  kept  growing 
stronger  and  stronger ;  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  in- 
ward voice,  whenever  she  thought  of  Vronsky,  seemed 
to  say,  "Warmly,  very  warmly,  passionately.".... 

"Well!  what  is  this.^"  she  asked  herself  resolutely, 
as  she  changed  her  position  in  the  seat.  "What  does 
this  mean .-'  Am  I  afraid  to  face  these  memories  ^  Well ! 
what  is  it."*  Is  there,  can  there  be,  any  relationship 
between  that  boy-officer  and  me  beyond  what  exists 
between  all  acquaintances.-'" 


She  smiled  disdainfully,  and  again  took  up  her  book ; 
but  now  she  really  could  not  any  longer  comprehend 
what  she  was  reading.  She  rubbed  her  paper-cutter 
over  the  pane,  and  then  pressed  its  cool,  smooth  surface 
to  her  cheek,  and  then  she  almost  laughed  out  loud  with 
the  joy  that  unreasonably  took  possession  of  her.  She 
felt  her  nerves  grow  more  and  more  tense  like  the 
strings  on  some  musical  instrument  screwed  up  to  the 
last  degree  ;  she  felt  her  eyes  open  wider  and  wider, 
her  fingers  and  her  toes  twitched  nervously,  something 
seemed  to  choke  her,  and  all  objects  and  sounds  in  the 
wavering  semi-darkness  surprised  her  by  their  exag- 
gerated proportions.  She  kept  having  moments  of 
doubt  as  to  whether  they  were  going  backwards  or 
forwards,  or  if  the  train  had  come  to  a  stop.  Was  it 
Annushka  there,  sitting  next  her,  or  was  it  a  stranger  ? 

"  What  is  that  on  the  hook .-'  —  my  fur  shuba  or  an 
animal  ?  And  what  am  I  doing  here  ?  Am  I  myself, 
or  some  one  else  ."* " 

It  was  terrible  to  her  to  yield  to  these  hallucinations ; 
but  something  kept  attracting  her  to  them  and  she  could 
by  her  own  will  either  yield  to  them  or  withdraw  from 
them.  In  order  to  regain  possession  of  herself,  Anna 
arose,  took  off  her  plaid  and  laid  aside  her  pelerine  of 
thick  cloth.  For  a  moment  she  thought  that  she  had  con- 
quered herself,  for  when  a  tall,  thin  muzhik,  dressed  in 
a  long  nankeen  overcoat,  which  lacked  a  button,  came 
in,  she  recognized  in  him  the  stove-tender.  She  saw 
him  look  at  the  thermometer,  and  noticed  how  the  wind 
and  the  snow  came  blowing  in  as  he  opened  the  door ; 
and  then  everything  became  confused  again. 

The  tall  peasant  began  to  draw  fantastic  figures  on 
the  wall  ;  the  old  lady  seemed  to  stretch  out  her  legs, 
and  fill  the  whole  carriage  as  with  a  black  cloud  ;  then 
she  thought  she  heard  a  terrible  thumping  and  rapping, 
a  noise  like  something  tearing  ;  then  a  red  and  blinding 
fire  flashed  in  her  eyes,  and  then  all  vanished  in  dark- 
ness. Anna  felt  as  if  she  was  falling.  But  this  was 
not  at  all  alarming,  but  rather  pleasant. 

The  voice  of  a  man  all  wrapped  up,  and  covered  with 


snow,  shouted  something  in  her  ear.  She  started  up, 
recovered  her  wits,  and  perceived  that  they  were  ap. 
proaching  a  station,  and  the  man  was  the  conductor. 
She  bade  Annushka  give  her  the  pelerine  which  she  had 
laid  aside  and  her  handkerchief,  and,  having  put  them 
on,  she  went  to  the  door. 
,  "  Do  you  wish  to  go  out .-' "  asked  Annushka. 

"  Yes  ;  I  want  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  It  is  very 
hot  here." 

And  she  opened  the  door.  The  snow-storm  and  the 
wind  rushed  in  to  meet  her  and  disputed  the  door  with 
her.  And  this  seemed  to  her  very  jolly.  The  storm 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  her,  it  gayly  whistled  and  was 
eager  to  carry  her  away ;  but  she  clung  to  the  cold  rail- 
ing with  one  hand,  and,  holding  her  dress,  she  stepped 
out  on  the  platform,  and  left  the  car.  The  wind  was 
fierce  on  the  steps,  but  on  the  platform,  under  the  shel- 
ter of  the  station,  it  was  calmer,  and  she  found  a  genuine 
pleasure  in  filling  her  lungs  with  the  frosty  air.  Stand' 
ing  near  the  car  she  watched  the  platform  and  the  stE' 
tion  gleaming  with  lights. 


A  FURIOUS  snow-storm  was  raging,  and  whistlings 
among  the  wheels  of  the  carriages,  around  the  columns, 
and  into  the  corners  of  the  station.  The  carriages,  the 
pillars,  the  people,  everything  visible,  were  covered  on 
one  side  with  snow,  and  it  was  increasing  momently. 
Once  in  a  while  there  would  be  a  lull,  but  then  again  it 
blew  with  such  gusts  that  it  seemed  impossible  to  make 
way  against  it.  Meantime  a  few  people  were  running 
hither  and  thither,  talking  gayly,  opening  and  shutting 
the  great  doors  of  the  station,  and  making  the  platform 
planks  creak  under  their  feet.  The  flitting  shadow  of  a 
man  passed  rapidly  by  her  feet,  and  she  heard  the  blows 
of  a  hammer  falling  on  the  iron. 

"  Send  off  the  telegram,"  cried  an  angry  voice  on  the 


other  side  of  the  track  in  the  midst  of  the  drifting 

"This  way,  please,  No.  28,"  cried  other  voices,  and 
several  people  covered  with  snow  hurried  by.  Two 
gentlemen,  with  lighted  cigarettes  in  their  mouths, 
passed  near  Anna.  She  was  just  about  to  reenter  the 
carriage,  after  getting  one  more  breath  of  fresh  air,  and 
had  already  taken  her  hand  from  her  muff,  to  lay  hold 
of  the  railing,  when  the  flickering  light  from  the  reflector 
was  cut  off  by  a  man  in  a  military  coat,  who  came  close 
to  her.  She  looked  up,  and  that  instant  recognized 
Vronsky's  face. 

Raising  his  hand  to  his  vizor  he  bowed  low,  and  asked 
if  she  needed  anything,  if  he  might  not  be  of  service  to 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  considerable  time  without 
replying,  and  although  he  was  in  the  shadow,  she  saw, 
or  thought  she  saw,  the  expression  of  his  face  and  even 
of  his  eyes.  It  was  a  repetition  of  that  respectful  ad- 
miration which  had  so  impressed  her  on  the  evening 
of  the  ball.  More  than  once  that  day  she  had  said  to 
herself  that  Vronsky,  for  her,  was  only  one  of  the 
hundred  young  men  whom  one  meets  in  society,  that 
she  would  never  permit  herself  to  give  him  a  second 
thought !  but  now,  on  the  first  instant  of  seeing  him 
again,  a  sensation  of  pride  and  joy  seized  her.  She 
had  no  need  to  ask  why  he  was  there.  She  knew,  as 
truly  as  if  he  had  told  her,  that  he  was  there  so  as  to  be 
where  she  was. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  going  to  Petersburg. 
Why  are  you  going  .<• "  said  she,  letting  her  hand  fall 
from  the  railing.  A  joy  which  she  could  not  restrain 
shone  in  her  face. 

"Why  am  I  going  .-• "  he  repeated,  looking  straight 
into  her  eyes.  "You  know  that  I  came  simply  for  this, 
—  to  be  where  you  are,"  he  said.  "I  could  not  do 

And  at  this  instant  the  wind,  as  if  it  had  conquered 
every  obstacle,  blew  the  snow  from  the  roofs  of  the 
carriages,    and    whirled    away    a  piece    of    sheet-iron 


which  it  had  torn  off,  and  at  the  same  time  the  deep 
whistle  of  the  locomotive  gave  a  melancholy,  mournful 
cry.  Never  had  the  horror  of  a  tempest  appeared  to 
her  more  beautiful  than  now.  He  had  said  what  her 
heart  longed  to  hear  but  what  her  better  judgment  con- 
demned. She  made  no  reply,  but  he  perceived  by  her 
face  how  she  fought  against  herself. 

"  Forgive  me  if  what  I  said  displeases  you,"  he  mur- 
mured  humbly. 

He  spoke  respectfully,  courteously,  but  in  such  a  reso- 
lute, decided  tone,  that  for  some  time  she  was  unable  to 

"  What  you  said  was  wrong ;  and  I  beg  of  you,  if  you 
are  a  gentleman,  to  forget  it,  as  I  shall  forget  it,"  said 
she  at  last. 

"  I  shall  never  forget,  and  I  shall  never  be  able  to 
forget  any  of  your  words,  any  of  your  gestures  .... " 

"  Enough,  enough  !  "  she  cried,  vainly  endeavoring  to 
give  an  expression  of  severity  to  her  face,  at  which 
Vronsky  was  passionately  gazing.  And  grasping  the 
cold  railing  she  mounted  the  steps,  and  quickly  entered 
the  vestibule  of  the  carriage.  But  she  stopped  in  the 
little  vestibule,  and  tried  to  recall  to  her  imagination 
what  had  taken  place.  But  though  she  found  it  impos- 
sible to  remember  either  her  own  words  or  his,  she  in- 
stinctively felt  that  this  brief  conversation  had  brought 
them  frightfully  close  together,  and  she  was  at  once 
alarmed  and  delighted.  After  she  had  stood  there  a 
few  seconds,  she  went  back  into  the  carriage  and  sat 
down  in  her  place. 

The  nervous  strain  which  had  been  tormenting  her  not 
only  returned,  but  became  more  intense,  until  she  began 
to  fear  every  moment  that  something  would  snap  her 
brain.  She  did  not  sleep  all  night ;  but  in  this  nervous 
tension,  and  in  the  fantasies  which  filled  her  imagina- 
tion, there  was  nothing  disagreeable  or  painful ;  on  the 
contrary,  it  was  joyous,  burning  excitement. 

Toward  morning,  Anna  dozed  as  she  sat  in  her  arm- 
chair ;  and  when  she  awoke  it  was  broad  daylight,  and 
the  train  was  approaching   Petersburg.     Instantly  the 


thought  of  her  home,  her  husband,  her  son,  and  all  the 
labors  of  the  day  and  the  coming  days,  filled  her  mind. 

The  train  had  hardly  reached  the  station  at  Peters- 
burg, when  Anna  stepped  out  on  the  platform  ;  and  the 
first  person  that  she  saw  was  her  husband  waiting  for 

"  Oh,  good  heavens  !  Why  do  his  ears  stand  out  so  !  "  / 
she  thought,  as  she  looked  at  his  reserved  and  portly 
figure  and  especially  at  his  stiff  cartilaginous  ears,  which, 
as  they  propped  up  the  rim  of  his  round  hat,  struck  her 
for  the  first  time.  When  he  saw  her,  he  came  to  meet 
her  at  the  carriage,  compressing  his  lips  into  his  habitual 
smile  of  irony,  looking  straight  at  her  with  his  great, 
weary  eyes.  A  disagreeable  thought  made  her  heart 
sink  when  she  saw  his  stubborn,  weary  look ;  she  felt 
that  she  had  expected  to  find  him  different.  Especially 
was  she  astounded  by  the  feeling  of  self-dissatisfaction 
which  she  experienced  on  meeting  him.  This  feeling 
was  associated  with  her  home,  akin  to  the  state  of  hypoc- 
risy which  she  recognized  in  her  relations  with  her  hus- 
band. This  feeling  was  not  novel ;  she  had  felt  it  before 
without  heeding  it,  but  now  she  realized  it  clearly  and 

"There!  you  see,  I'm  a  tender  husband,  tender  as 
the  first  year  of  our  marriage  ;  I  was  burning  with  desire 
to  see  you,"  said  he,  in  his  slow,  deliberate  voice,  and 
with  the  light  tone  of  raillery  that  he  generally  used  in 
speaking  to  her,  a  tone  of  ridicule  of  any  one  who 
should  really  say  such  things. 

"  Is  Serozha  well  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  And  is  this  all  the  reward,"  he  said,  "for  my  ardor? 
He  is  well,  very  well." .... 


Vronsky  also  had  not  even  attempted  to  sleep  all  that 
night.  He  sat  in  his  arm-chair,  now  gazing  straight  for- 
ward, now  looking  at  those  who  came  in  and  went  out, 
and  if  before  he  had  impressed  strangers  and  irritated 


them  by  his  imperturbable  dignity,  now  he  would  have 
seemed  to  them  far  more  haughty  and  self-contained 
He  looked  at  men  as  if  they  were  things.  A  nervous 
young  man,  employed  in  the  district  court,  was  sitting 
opposite  him  in  the  carriage,  and  cam-e  to  hate  him  on 
account  of  this  aspect.  The  young  man  asked  for  a 
light,  and  spoke  to  him,  and  even  touched  him,  in  order 
to  make  him  perceive  that  he  was  not  a  thing  but  a 
man  ;  yet  Vronsky  looked  at  him  exactly  as  he  looked 
at  the  carriage-lamp.  And  the  young  man  made  a 
grimace,  feeling  that  he  should  lose  command  of  him- 
self to  be  so  scorned  by  a  man. 

Vronsky  saw  nothing,  saw  no  one.  He  felt  as  if  he 
were  a  tsar,  not  because  he  believed  that  he  had  made 
an  impression  upon  Anna,  —  he  did  not  fully  realize 
that,  as  yet,  —  but  because  the  impression  which  she 
had  made  on  him  filled  him  with  happiness  and  pride. 

What  would  be  the  outcome  of  all  this  he  did  not 
know,  and  did  not  even  consider ;  but  he  felt  that  all 
his  hitherto  dissipated  and  scattered  powers  were  now 
concentrating  and  converging  with  frightful  rapidity 
toward  one  beatific  focus.  And  he  was  happy  in 
this  thought.  He  knew  only  that  he  had  told  her  the 
truth  when  he  said  he  was  going  where  she  was,  that 
all  the  happiness  of  life,  the  sole  significance  of  life,  he 
found  now  in  seeing  and  hearing  her.  And  when  he  left 
his  compartment  at  Bologovo  to  get  a  glass  of  seltzer, 
and  he  saw  Anna,  involuntarily  his  first  word  told  her 
what  he  thought.  And  he  was  glad  that  he  had  spoken 
as  he  did  ;  glad  that  she  knew  all  now,  and  was  thinking 
about  it.  He  did  not  sleep  all  night.  Returning  to  his 
carriage  he  did  not  cease  recalling  all  his  memories  of 
her,  the  words  that  she  had  spoken,  and  in  his  imagina- 
tion glowed  the  pictures  of  a  possible  future  which  over- 
whelmed his  heart. 

When,  on  reaching  Petersburg,  he  left  the  carriage, 
after  his  sleepless  night  he  felt  as  fresh  and  vigorous  as 
if  he  had  just  had  a  cold  bath.  He  stood  near  his  car- 
riage, waiting  to  see  her  pass.  "  Once  more  I  shall  see 
her,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  smile.     "I  shall  see  her 


graceful  bearing,  her  face  ;  she  will  speak  a  word  to  me, 
will  turn  her  head,  will  look  at  me,  perhaps  she  will 
smile  on  me." 

But  it  was  her  husband  whom  first  he  saw,  politely 
escorted  through  the  crowd  by  the  station-master. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  the  husband  !  " 

And  then  Vronsky  for  the  first  time  clearly  realized 
that  the  husband  was  an  important  factor  in  Anna's  life. 
He  knew  that  she  had  a  husband,  but  he  had  not  realized 
his  existence,  and  he  now  fully  realized  it  only  as  he  saw 
his  head  and  shoulders,  and  his  legs  clothed  in  black 
trowsers,  and  especially  when  he  saw  this  husband  un- 
concernedly take  her  hand  with  an  air  of  proprietorship. 

When  he  saw  AlekseY  Aleksandrovitch  with  his 
Petersburgish-fresh  face,  and  his  solid,  self-confident 
figure,  his  round  hat,  and  his  slightly  stooping  shoul- 
ders, he  began  to  believe  in  his  existence,  and  he  expe- 
rienced an  unpleasant  sensation  such  as  a  man  tormented 
by  thirst  might  experience,  who  should  discover  a  foun- 
tain, but  find  that  a  dog,  a  sheep,  or  a  pig  has  been 
drinking  and  fouling  the  water. 

Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch's  stiff  and  heavy  gait  was 
exceedingly  distasteful  to  Vronsky.  He  would  not  ac- 
knowledge that  any  one  besides  himself  had  the  right 
to  love  Anna.  But  she  was  still  the  same  and  the  sight 
of  her  had  still  the  same  effect  on  him,  physically  kind- 
ling him,  stirring  him,  and  filling  his  heart  with  joy. 
He  ordered  his  German  body-servant,  who  came  hurry- 
ing up  to  him  from  the  second-class  carriage,  to  see  to 
the  baggage  and  to  go  home ;  and  he  himself  went  to 
her.  Thus  he  witnessed  the  first  meeting  between 
husband  and  wife,  and  with  a  lover's  intuition,  perceived 
the  shade  of  constraint  with  which  Anna  spoke  to  her 

"  No,  she  does  not  love  him,  and  she  cannot  love 
him,"  was  his  mental  judgment. 

Even  as  he  came  up  to  Anna  Arkadyevna  from  behind, 
he  noticed  with  joy  that  she  felt  him  near  her  and 
looked  round,  and  having  recognized  him,  she  went  on 
talking  with  her  husband. 


"Did  yon  pass  a  good  night?"  he  inquired,  bowing 
to  her  and  her  husband  and  allowing  Aleksei"  Aleksan- 
drovitch  the  opportunity  to  accept  the  honor  of  the  salu- 
tation and  recognize  him  or  not  recognize  him  as  it  might 
seem  good  to  him. 

"  Thank  you,  very  good,"  she  replied. 

Her  face  expressed  weariness,  lacked  that  spark  of 
animation  which  was  generally  hovering  now  in  her 
eyes,  now  in  her  smile ;  but,  for  a  single  instant,  at  the 
sight  of  Vronsky,  something  flashed  into  her  eyes,  and, 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  fire  instantly  died 
away,  he  was  overjoyed  even  at  this.  She  raised  her 
eyes  to  her  husband,  to  see  whether  he  knew  Vronsky. 
AlekseY  Aleksandrovitch  looked  at  him  with  displeasure, 
vaguely  remembering  who  he  was.  Vronsky's  calm 
self-assurance  struck  upon  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch's 
cool  superciliousness  as  a  scythe  strikes  a  rock. 

"  Count  Vronsky,"  said  Anna. 

"  Ah !  We  have  met  before,  it  seems  to  me,"  said 
Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  with  indifference,  extending 
his  hand.  "  Went  with  the  mother,  and  came  home 
with  the  son,"  said  he,  speaking  with  precision,  as  if 
his  words  were  worth  a  ruble  apiece.  "  I  presume  you 
are  returning  from  a  furlough  .-" "  And  without  waiting 
for  an  answer,  he  turned  to  his  wife,  in  his  ironical  tone, 
"  Did  they  shed  many  tears  in  Moscow  on  your  leaving 
them  .-• " 

By  thus  addressing  his  wife  he  intended  to  give 
Vronsky  to  understand  that  he  desired  to  be  left  alone, 
and  again  bowing  to  him  he  touched  his  hat ;  but  Vron- 
sky had  one  more  word  to  say  to  Anna. 

"  I  hope  to  have  the  honor  of  calling  on  you,"  said 

Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch,  with  weary  eyes,  looked  at 

"Very  happy,"  he  said  coldly;  "we  receive  on  Mon- 

Then,  leaving  Vronsky  entirely,  he  said  to  his  wife, 
still  in  a  jesting  tone  :  — 

"  And  how  fortunate  that  I  happened  to  have  a  spare 


half-hour  to  come  to  meet  you,  and  show  you  my  affec- 

"You  emphasize  your  affection  too  much  for  me  to 
appreciate  it,"  she  replied,  in  the  same  spirit  of  raillery, 
involuntarily  listening  to  Vronsky's  steps  behind  them. 
"  But  what  is  that  to  me  .-' "  she  asked  herself  in  thought. 
Then  she  began  to  ask  her  husband  how  Serozha  had 
got  along  during  her  absence. 

"  Oh !  excellently.  Mariette  says  that  he  has  been 
very  good,  and  ....I  am  sorry  to  mortify  you  ....  he  did 
not  seem  to  miss  you  —  not  so  much  as  your  husband 
did.  But  again,  merci,  my  dear,  that  you  came  a  day 
earlier,  .  Our  dear  Samovar  will  be  delighted." 

He  called  the  celebrated  Countess  Lidya  Ivanovna 
by  the  nickname  of  the  Satnovar,  because,  like  a  tea- 
urn,  she  was  always  and  everywhere  bubbling  and  boil- 
ing. "  She  has  kept  asking  after  you ;  and  do  you 
know,  if  I  make  bold  to  advise  you,  you  would  do  well 
to  go  to  see  her  to-day.  You  see,  her  heart  is  always 
sore  about  something.  At  present,  besides  her  usual 
cares,  she  is  greatly  concerned  about  the  reconciliation 
of  the  Oblonskys." 

The  Countess  Lidya  Ivanovna  was  a  friend  of  Anna's 
husband,  and  the  center  of  a  certain  clique  in  Peters- 
burg society,  to  which  Anna  on  her  husband's  account, 
rather  than  for  any  other  reason,  belonged. 

"  Yes  !     But  did  n't  I  write  her  > " 

"  She  must  have  all  the  details.  Go  to  her,  my  love, 
if  you  are  not  too  tired.  Well !  Kondratu  will  call 
your  carriage,  and  I  am  going  to  a  committee-meeting. 
I  shall  not  have  to  dine  alone  to-day,"  continued  Aleksei 
Aleksandrovitch,  not  in  jest  this  time,  "You  cannot 
imagine  how  used  I  am  to.,.,  " 

And  with  a  peculiar  smile,  giving  her  a  long  pressure 
of  the  hand,  he  conducted  her  to  the  carriage. 



The  first  person  to  meet  Anna  when  she  reached 
home  was  her  son.  He  darted  down-stairs,  in  spite  of 
his  governess's  reproof,  and  with  wild  deUght  cried, 
"  Mamma !  mamma !  "  Rushing  up  to  her  he  threw 
his  arms  round  her  neck. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  mamma !  "  he  shouted  to  the  gov- 
erness.    "  I  knew  it  was  !  " 

But  the  son,  no  less  than  the  husband,  awakened  in 
Anna  a  feeling  like  disillusion.  She  imagined  him  bet- 
ter than  he  was  in  reality.  She  was  obliged  to  descend 
to  the  reality  in  order  to  look  on  him  as  he  was.  But  in 
fact,  he  was  lovely,  with  his  fair  curls,  his  blue  eyes,  and 
his  pretty  plump  legs  in  their  neatly  fitting  stockings. 
She  felt  an  almost  physical  satisfaction  in  feeling  him 
near  her,  and  in  his  caresses,  and  a  moral  calm  in  looking 
into  his  tender,  confiding,  loving  eyes,  and  in  hearing 
his  innocent  questions.  She  unpacked  the  gifts  sent 
him  by  Dolly's  children,  and  told  him  how  there  was 
a  little  girl  in  Moscow,  named  Tanya,  and  how  this 
Tanya  knew  how  to  read,  and  was  teaching  the  other 
children  to  read. 

"  Am  I  not  as  good  as  she } "  asked  Serozha. 

"  Eor  me,  you  are  worth  all  the  rest  of  the  world." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Serozha,  smiling. 

Anna  had  not  finished  drinking  her  coffee,  when  the 
Countess  Lidya  Ivanovna  was  announced.  The  Coun- 
tess Lidya  Ivanovna  was  a  tall,  stout  woman,  with  an 
unhealthy,  sallow  complexion,  and  handsome,  dreamy 
black  eyes.  Anna  liked  her,  but  to-day,  as  if  for  the 
first  time,  she  saw  her  with  all  her  faults. 

"  Well !  my  dear,  did  you  carry  the  olive-branch .''  " 
demanded  the  Countess  Lidya  Ivanovna,  as  she  entered 
the  room. 

"Yes,  it  is  all  made  up,"  replied  Anna;  "but  it  was 
not  so  bad  as  we  thought.  As  a  general  thing,  my 
sister-in-law  is  too  peremptory." 

But  the  Countess  Lidya,  who  was  interested  in  every- 


thing  that  did  not  specially  concern  herself,  had  the  habit 
of  sometimes  not  heeding  what  did  interest  her.  She 
interrupted  Anna :  — 

"Well!  This  world  is  full  of  woes  and  tribulations, 
and  I  am  all  worn  out  to-day." 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  Anna,  striving  to  repress  a 

"  I  am  beginning  to  weary  of  the  ineffectual  attempts 
to  get  at  the  truth,  and  sometimes  I  am  utterly  discour- 
aged. The  work  of  the  Little  Sisters  "  —  this  was  a  phil- 
anthropic and  religiously  patriotic  institution  —  "  used 
to  get  along  splendidly,  but  there  is  nothing  to  be  done 
with  these  men,"  added  the  Countess  Lidya  Ivanovna, 
with  an  air  of  ironical  resignation  to  fate.  "  They  got 
hold  of  the  idea,  they  mutilated  it,  and  then  they  judge 
it  so  meanly,  so  wretchedly.  Two  or  three  men,  your 
husband  among  them,  understand  all  the  significance  of 
this  work  ;  but  the  others  only  discredit  it.  Yesterday 
I  had  a  letter  from  Pravdin  ....  " 

Pravdin  was  a  famous  Panslavist,  who  lived  abroad, 
and  the  Countess  Lidya  Ivanovna  related  what  he  had 
said  in  his  letter. 

Then  she  went  on  to  describe  the  troubles  and  snares 
that  blocked  the  work  of  uniting  the  churches,  and 
finally  departed  in  haste,  because  it  was  the  day  for  her 
to  be  present  at  the  meeting  of  some  society  or  other, 
and  at  the  sitting  of  the  Slavonic  Committee. 

"All  this  is  just  as  it  has  been,  but  why  did  I  never 
notice  it  before  ? "  said  Anna  to  herself.  "  Was  she  very 
irritable  to-day  .-•  But  at  any  rate,  it  is  ridiculous  :  her 
aims  are  charitable,  she  is  a  Christian,  and  yet  she  is 
angry  with  every  one,  and  every  one  is  her  enemy ;  and 
yet  all  h6r  enemies  are  working  for  Christianity  and 

After  the  departure  of  the  Countess  Lidya  Ivanovna, 
came  a  friend,  the  wife  of  a  director,  who  told  her  all 
the  news  of  the  city.  At  three  o'clock  she  went  out, 
promising  to  be  back  in  time  for  dinner.  Alekseif  Alek- 
sandrovitch  was  at  the  meeting  of  the  ministry.  The 
hour  before  dinner,  which  Anna  spent  alone,  she  em- 


ployed  sitting  with  her  son,  —  who  had  his  dinner  by 
himself,  —  in  arranging  her  things,  and  in  reading  and 
answering  the  letters  and  notes  heaped  up  on  her  writ- 

The  sensation  of  causeless  shame,  and  the  agitation 
from  which  she  had  suffered  so  strangely  during  her 
journey,  now  completely  disappeared.  Under  the  con- 
ditions of  her  ordinary  every-day  life,  she  felt  calm,  and 
free  from  reproach,  and  she  was  filled  with  wonder  as 
she  recalled  her  condition  of  the  night  before. 

"  What  was  it  ?  Nothing.  Vronsky  said  a  foolish 
thing ;  it  is  easy  to  put  an  end  to  such  nonsense,  and  I 
answered  him  exactly  right.  To  speak  of  it  to  my  hus- 
band is  unnecessary  and  impossible.  To  speak  about 
it  would  seem  to  attach  importance  to  what  has  none." 

And  she  recalled  how,  when  a  young  subordinate  of 
her  husband's  in  Petersburg  had  almost  made  her  a 
declaration  and  she  had  told  him  about  it,  Aleksef  Alek- 
sandrovitch  answered  that  as  she  went  into  society,  she, 
like  all  society  women,  might  expect  such  experiences, 
but  that  he  had  perfect  confidence  in  her  tact,  and  never 
would  permit  himself  to  humiliate  her  or  him  by  jealousy. 
"  Why  tell,  then  ?  Besides,  thank  God,  there  is  nothing 
to  tell." 


Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch  returned  from  the  min- 
istry about  four  o'clock ;  but,  as  often  happened,  he 
found  no  time  to  speak  to  Anna.  He  went  directly  to 
his  private  room  to  give  audience  to  some  petitioners 
who  were  waiting  for  him,  and  to  sign  some  papers 
brought  him  by  his  chief  secretary. 

The  Karenins  always  had  at  least  three  visitors  to 
dine  with  them  ;  and  that  day  there  came  an  old  lady, 
a  cousin  of  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch's,  a  department  di- 
rector with  his  wife,  and  a  young  man  recommended  to 
AlekseY  Aleksandrovitch  for  employment.  Anna  came 
to  the  drawing-room  to  receive  them  at  five  o'clock  pre- 


cisely.  The  great  bronze  clock,  of  the  time  of  Peter  the 
Great,  had  not  yet  finished  its  fifth  stroke,  when  Aleksel 
Aleksandrovitch,  in  white  cravat,  and  with  two  decora- 
tions on  his  dress-coat,  left  his  dressing-room  ;  he  had 
an  engagement  immediately  after  dinner.  Every  mo- 
ment of  Alekse'i"  Aleksandrovitch's  life  was  counted  and 
occupied  ;  and  in  order  to  accomplish  what  he  had  to  do 
every  day,  he  was  forced  to  use  the  strictest  punctuality. 
"Without  haste,  and  without  rest,"  was  his  motto.  He 
entered  the  dining-room,  bowed  to  his  guests,  and,  giv- 
ing his  wife  a  smile,  hastily  sat  down. 

"Yes,  my  solitude  is  over!  You  can't  believe  how 
irksome,"  —  he  laid  a  special  stress  on  the  word  nelovko, 
irksome,  —  "  it  is  to  dine  alone  !  " 

During  the  dinner  he  talked  with  his  wife  about  mat- 
ters in  Moscow,  and,  with  his  mocking  smile,  inquired 
especially  about  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  ;  but  the  conver- 
sation dwelt  for  the  most  part  on  common  subjects, 
about  official  and  social  matters  in  Petersburg.  After 
dinner  he  spent  a  half-hour  with  his  guests,  and  then, 
giving  his  wife  another  smile,  and  pressing  her  hand,  he 
left  the  room  and  went  to  the  council. 

Anna  did  not  go  out  that  evening  either  to  the  Prin- 
cess Betsy  Tverskaya's,  who,  having  heard  of  her  arri- 
val, had  sent  her  an  invitation  ;  or  to  the  theater,  where 
she  just  now  had  a  box.  She  did  not  go  out  principally 
because  the  gown  on  which  she  had  counted  was  not 
finished.  After  the  departure  of  her  guests,  Anna  took 
a  general  survey  of  her  wardrobe,  and  was  very  angry. 
She  was  extremely  clever  in  dressing  at  small  expense, 
and  just  before  she  went  to  Moscow  she  had  given 
three  gowns  to  her  dressmaker  to  make  over.  These 
gowns  required  to  be  made  over  in  such  a  way  that  no 
one  would  recognize  them,  and  they  should  have  been 
ready  three  days  before.  Two  of  the  gowns  proved 
to  be  absolutely  unfinished,  and  one  was  not  made  over 
in  a  way  which  Anna  liked.  The  dressmaker  sought 
to  explain  what  she  had  done,  declaring  that  her  way 
was  best ;  and  Anna  reprimanded  her  so  severely  that 
afterwards  she  felt  ashamed  of    herself.     To  calm  her 


agitation,  she  went  to  the  nursery,  and  spent  the  whole 
evening  with  her  son,  put  him  to  bed  herself,  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross  over  him,  and  tucked  the  quilt  about 
him.  She  was  glad  that  she  had  not  gone  out,  and 
that  she  had  spent  such  a  happy  evening.  It  was  so 
quiet  and  restful,  and  now  she  saw  clearly  that  all  that 
had  seemed  so  important  during  her  railway  journey 
was  only  one  of  the  ordinary  insignificant  events  of 
social  life,  —  that  she  had  nothing  of  which  to  be 
ashamed,  either  in  her  own  eyes,  or  in  the  eyes  of 
others.  She  sat  down  in  front  of  the  fireplace  with  her 
English  novel,  and  waited  for  her  husband.  At  half- 
past  ten  exactly  his  ring  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  he 
.came  into  the  room. 

"  Here  you  are,  at  last,"  she  said,  giving  him  her 
hand.     He  kissed  her  hand,  and  sat  down  near  her. 

"  Your  journey,  I  see,  was  on  the  whole  very  success- 
ful," said  he. 

"Yes,  very,"  she  replied;  and  she  began  to  relate  all 
the  details  from  the  beginning  —  her  journey  with  the 
Countess  Vronskaya,  her  arrival,  the  accident  at  the 
station,  the  pity  which  she  had  felt,  first  for  her  brother, 
and  afterwards  for  Dolly. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  it  is  possible  to  pardon  such  a 
man,  even  though  he  is  your  brother,"  said  Aleksel 
Aleksandrovitch,  severely. 

Anna  smiled.  She  appreciated  that  he  said  this  to 
show  that  not  even  kinship  could  bend  him  from  the 
strictness  of  his  honest  judgment.  She  knew  this  trait 
in  her  husband's  character,  and  liked  it. 

"  I  am  glad  that  all  ended  so  satisfactorily,  and  that 
you  have  come  home  again,"  he  continued,  "  Well ! 
what  do  they  say  there  about  the  new  measures  that 
I  introduced  in  the  council  .■• " 

Anna  had  heard  nothing  said  about  this  new  measure, 
and  she  was  confused  because  she  had  so  easily  forgotten 
something  which  to  him  was  so  important. 

"  Here,  on  the  contrary,  it  has  made  a  great  sensa- 
tion," said  he,  with  a  self-satisfied  smile. 

She  saw  that  Aleksei"  Aleksandrovitch  wanted  to  tell 


her  something  very  flattering  to  himself  about  this 
affair,  and,  by  means  of  questions,  she  led  him  up  to 
the  story.  And  he,  with  the  same  self-satisfied  smile, 
began  to  tell  her  of  the  congratulations  which  he  had 
received  on  account  of  this  measure,  which  had  been 

"  I  was  very,  very  glad.  This  proves  that  at  last 
reasonable  and  serious  views  about  this  question  are 
beginning  to  be  formed  among  us." 

After  he  had  taken  his  second  glass  of  tea,  with  cream 
and  bread,  Aleksei"  Aleksandrovitch  arose  to  go  to  his 

"  But  you  did  not  go  out ;  was  it  very  tiresome  for 
you }"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  replied,  rising  with  her  husband,  and 
going  with  him  through  the  hall  to  the  library. 

"  What  are  you  reading  now  ?  "  she  asked.  d 

"Just  now  I  am  reading  the  Due  de  Lille  —  Po/sie 
des  enfers''  he  replied,  "a  very  remarkable  book." 

Anna  smiled,  as  one  smiles  at  the  weaknesses  of  those 
we  love,  and,  passing  her  arm  through  her  husband's, 
accompanied  him  to  the  library  door.  She  knew  that 
his  habit  of  reading  in  the  evening  had  become  inex- 
orable, and  that,  notwithstanding  his  absorbing  duties, 
which  took  so  much  of  his  time  at  the  council,  he  felt 
it  his  duty  to  follow  all  that  seemed  remarkable  in  the 
sphere  of  literature.  She  also  knew  that  while  he  felt 
a  special  interest  in  works  on  political  economy,  philoso- 
phy, and  religion,  art  was  quite  foreign  to  his  nature ; 
and  notwithstanding  this,  or  better,  for  that  very  reason, 
Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch  allowed  nothing  that  was  at- 
tracting attention  in  that  field  to  escape  his  notice,  but 
considered  it  his  duty  to  read  everything.  She  knew 
that  in  the  province  of  political  economy,  philosophy, 
religion,  Aleksei"  Aleksandrovitch  had  doubts,  and  tried 
to  solve  them  ;  but  in  questions  of  art  or  poetry,  par- 
ticularly in  music,  the  comprehension  of  which  was 
utterly  beyond  him,  he  had  the  most  precise  and  defi- 
nite opinions.  He  loved  to  talk  of  Shakespeare,  Raphael, 
and  Beethoven  ;  of  the  importance  of  the  new  school 


of  music  and  poetry, — all  of  whom  were  classed  by 
him  according  to  the  most  rigorous  logic. 

"Well!  God  be  with  you,"  she  said,  as  they  reached 
the  door  of  the  library.  Near  her  husband's  arm-chair 
were  standing,  as  usual,  the  shade-lamp  already  lighted, 
and  a  carafe  with  water.  "  And  I  am  going  to  write  to 

Again  he  pressed  her  hand,  and  kissed  it. 

"Taken  all  in  all,  he  is  a  good  man  ;  upright,  excel- 
lent, remarkable  in  his  sphere,"  said  Anna  to  herself, 
on  her  way  to  her  room,  as  if  she  was  defending  him 
from  some  one  who  accused  him  of  not  being  lov- 

"  But  why  do  his  ears  stick  out  so  ?  Or  does  he  cut 
his  hair  too  short  .■*  " 

It  was  just  midnight,  and  Anna  was  still  sitting  at 
her  writing-table  finishing  a  letter  to  Dolly,  when  meas- 
ured steps  in  slippers  were  heard  ;  and  Aleksef  Alek- 
sandrovitch,  who  had  washed  his  face  and  brushed  his 
hair,  came  in  with  his  book  under  his  arm. 

"  Late,  late,"  said  he,  with  his  usual  smile,  and  passed 
on  to  his  sleeping-room. 

"  And  what  right  had  he  to  look  at  him  so  .''  "  thought 
Anna,  recalling  Vronsky's  expression  when  he  saw  Alek- 
seif  Aleksandrovitch.  Having  undressed,  she  went  to 
her  room  ;  but  in  her  face  there  was  none  of  that  ani- 
mation that  shone  in  her  eyes  and  in  her  smile  at  Mos- 
cow. On  the  contrary,  the  fire  had  either  died  away, 
or  was  somewhere  far  away  and  out  of  sight. 


On  leaving  Petersburg,  Vronsky  had  installed  his 
beloved  friend  and  comrade,  Petritsky,  in  his  ample 
quarters  on  the  Morskaya. 

Petritsky  was  a  young  lieutenant,  not  particularly  dis- 
tinguished, and  not  only  not  rich,  but  over  ears  in  debt. 
Every  evening  he  came  home  tipsy,  and  he  spent  much 
of  his  time  at  the  police  courts,  in  search  of  strange 


or  amusing  or  scandalous  stories  ;  but  in  spite  of  all 
he  was  a  favorite  with  his  comrades  and  his  chiefs. 

About  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  Vronsky 
reached  his  rooms  after  his  journey,  he  saw  at  the  en- 
trance an  izvoshchik's  carriage,  which  he  knew  very 
well.  From  the  door,  when  he  rang,  he  heard  men's 
laughter  and  the  lisping  of  a  woman's  voice,  and  Petrit- 
sky  shouting :  — 

"  If  it 's  any  of  those  villains,  don't  let  'em  in." 

Vronsky,  not  allowing  his  denshchik  to  announce  his 
presence,  quietly  entered  the  anteroom.  The  Baroness 
Shilton,  a  friend  of  Petritsky's,  shining  in  a  lilac  satin 
robe,  and  with  her  little  pink  face,  was  making  coffee 
before  a  round  table,  and,  like  a  canary-bird,  was  filling 
the  room  with  her  Parisian  slang.  Petritsky  in  his 
overcoat,  and  Captain  Kamerovsky  in  full  uniform,  ap- 
parently just  from  duty,  were  sitting  near  her. 

"  Bravo,  Vronsky !  "  cried  Petritsky,  leaping  up  and 
overturning  the  chair.  "  The  master  himself.  Baron- 
ess, coffee  for  him  from  the  new  coffee-pot !  We  did 
not  expect  you.  I  hope  that  you  are  pleased  with  the 
new  ornament  in  your  library,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
baroness.     "  You  are  acquainted,  are  n't  you  .-* " 

"  I  should  think  so ! "  said  Vronsky,  smiling  gayly, 
and  squeezing  the  baroness's  dainty  little  hand.  "  We  're 
old  friends." 

"  Are  you  back  from  a  journey  .-* "  asked  the  baroness. 
"  Then  I  'm  off.  Akh  !  I  am  going  this  minute  if  I  am 
in  the  way." 

"You  are  at  home  wherever  you  are,  baroness,"  said 
Vronsky.  "  How  are  you,  Kamerovsky?"  coolly  shak- 
ing hands  with  the  captain. 

"  There  now !  you  would  never  think  of  saying  such 
lovely  things  as  that,"  said  the  baroness  to  Petritsky. 

"  No  }  Why  not .-'  After  dinner  I  could  say  better 
things  ! " 

"  Yes,  after  dinner  there  's  no  more  merit  in  them. 
Well !  I  will  make  your  coffee  while  you  go  and  wash 
your  hands  and  brush  off  the  dust,"  said  the  baroness, 
again  sitting  down,  and  industriously  turning  the  screw 


of  the  new  coffee-pot.  "  Pierre,  bring  some  more  coffee," 
said  she  to  Petritsky,  whom  she  called  Pierre,  after  his 
family  name,  making  no  concealment  of  her  intimacy 
with  him.     "  I  will  add  it." 

"  You  will  spoil  it." 

"  No  !  I  won't  spoil  it.  Well !  and  your  wife  ? "  said 
the  baroness,  suddenly  interrupting  Vronsky's  remarks 
to  his  companions.  "  We  have  been  marrying  you  off. 
Did  you  bring  your  wife  .?  " 

"  No,  baroness.  I  was  born  a  Bohemian,  and  I  shall 
die  a  Bohemian." 

"  So  much  the  better,  so  much  the  better ;  give  us 
your  hand ! " 

And  the  baroness,  without  letting  him  go,  began  to 
talk  with  him,  developing  her  various  plans  of  life,  and 
asking  his  advice  with  many  jests. 

"  He  will  never  be  willing  to  let  me  have  a  divorce. 
Well!  what  am  I  to  do  .'*  [//<?  was  her  husband.]  I  now 
mean  to  institute  a  lawsuit.  What  should  you  think  of 
it } ....  Kamerovsky,  just  watch  the  coffee  !     It 's  boiling 

over You  see  how  well   I   understand  business  !     I 

mean  to  begin  a  lawsuit  to  get  control  of  my  fortune. 
Do  you  understand  this  nonsense  .-'  Under  the  pretext 
that  I  have  been  unfaithful,"  said  she,  in  a  scornful  tone, 
"  he  means  to  get  possession  of  my  estate." 

Vronsky  listened  with  amusement  to  this  gay  prattle 
of  the  pretty  woman,  approved  of  what  she  said,  gave 
her  half-jesting  advice,  and  assumed  the  tone  he  usually 
affected  with  women  of  her  character.  In  his  Peters- 
burg world,  humanity  was  divided  into  two  absolutely 
distinct  categories, —  the  one  of  a  low  order,  trivial, 
stupid,  and  above  all  ridiculous  people,  who  declared 
that  one  husband  ought  to  live  with  one  wedded  wife, 
that  girls  should  be  virtuous,  women  chaste,  men  brave, 
temperate,  and  upright,  occupied  in  bringing  up  their 
children  decently,  in  earning  their  bread,  and  paying 
their  debts,  and  other  such  absurdities.  People  of  this 
kind  were  old-fashioned  and  ridiculous. 

But  there  was  another  and  vastly  superior  class,  to 
which  he  and  his  friends  belonged,  and  in  this  the  chief 


requirement  was  that  its  members  should  be  elegant, 
generous,  bold,  gay,  unblushingly  given  over  to  every 
passion,  and  scornful  of  all  the  rest. 

Only  for  the  first  moment  was  Vronsky  bewildered 
under  the  impressions  which  he  had  brought  back  from 
Moscow,  of  an  entirely  different  world.  But  soon,  and 
as  naturally  as  one  puts  on  old  slippers,  he  got  into  the 
spirit  of  his  former  gay  and  jovial  life. 

The  coffee  was  never  served;  it  boiled  over,  spattered 
them  all,  and  wet  a  costly  table-cloth  and  the  baroness's 
dress ;  but  it  served  the  end  that  was  desired,  for  it 
gave  rise  to  many  jests  and  merry  peals  of  laughter. 

"  Well,  now,  good-by,  for  you  will  never  get  dressed, 
and  I  shall  have  on  my  conscience  the  worst  crime  that 
a  decent  man  can  commit,  —that  of  not  taking  a  bath. 
....  So  you  advise  me  to  put  the  knife  to  his  throat .-' " 

"  By  all  means,  and  in  such  a  way  that  your  little 
hand  will  come  near  his  lips.  He  will  kiss  your  little 
hand,  and  all  will  end  to  everybody's  satisfaction,"  said 

"This  evening  at  the  Theatre  Fran^ais,"  and  she  took 
her  departure  with  her  rustling  train. 

Kamerovsky  likewise  arose,  but  Vronsky,  without 
waiting  for  him  to  go,  shook  hands  with  him,  and  went 
to  his  dressing-room.  While  he  was  taking  his  bath, 
Petritsky  sketched  for  him  in  a  few  lines  his  situation, 
and  how  it  had  changed  during  Vronsky's  absence,  — 
no  money  at  all ;  his  father  declaring  that  he  would  not 
give  him  any  more,  or  pay  a  single  debt.  One  tailor 
determined  to  have  him  arrested,  and  a  second  no  less 
determined.  His  colonel  insisted  that,  if  these  scandals 
continued,  he  should  leave  the  regiment.  The  baroness 
was  as  annoying  to  him  as  a  bitter  radish,  principally 
because  she  was  always  wanting  to  squander  money  ; 
"  but  she  is  a  daisy,  a  charmer,"  he  assured  Vronsky, 
"  in  the  strict  Oriental  style,  —your  servant  Rebecca 
kind,  you  know."  He  had  been  having  a  quarrel  with 
Berkoshef,  and  he  wanted  to  send  him  his  seconds,  but 
he  imagined  nothing  v/ould  come  of  it.  As  for  the  rest, 
everything  was  getting  along  particularly  jolly. 


And  then,  without  leaving  Vronsky  time  to  realize 
the  minutiae  of  his  situation,  Petritsky  began  to  retail 
the  news  of  the  day.  As  he  listened  to  Petritsky's  well- 
known  gossip,  in  the  familiar  environment  of  his  quar- 
ters where  he  had  lived  for  three  years,  Vronsky  ex- 
perienced the  pleasant  sensation  of  his  return  to  his 
gay  and  idle  Petersburg  life. 

"  It  cannot  be  !  "  he  cried,  as  he  turned  the  faucet  of 
his  wash-stand  and  let  the  water  stream  over  his  red, 
healthy  neck;  "it  cannot  be!"  he  cried,  referring  to 
the  report  that  Laura  had  taken  up  with  Mileef  and 
thrown  Fertinghof  over.  "And  is  he  as  stupid  and 
as  conceited  as  ever  ?....  Well,  and  how  about  Buzulu- 
kof  ? " 

"Akh!  Buzulukof!  here's  a  good  story,  fascinating!" 
said  Petritsky.  "You  know  his  passion,  —  balls;  and 
he  never  misses  one  at  court.  At  the  last  one  he  went 
in  a  new  helmet.  Have  you  seen  the  new  helmets  ? 
Very  handsome, ....  light.  Well,  he  was  standing.... 
No ;  but  listen." 

"  Yes,  I  am  listening,"  replied  Vronsky,  rubbing  his 
face  with  a  towel. 

"The  grand  duchess  was  just  going  by  on  the  arm 
of  some  foreign  ambassador  or  other,  and  unfortunately 
for  him  their  conversation  turned  on  the  new  helmets. 
The  grand  duchess  wanted  to  point  out  one  of  the  new 
helmets,  and,  seeing  our  galubchik  standing  there,"  — 
here  Petritsky  showed  how  he  stood  in  his  helmet,  — 
"she  begged  him  to  show  her  his  helmet.  He  did  not 
budge.  What  does  it  mean  ?  The  fellows  wink  at  him, 
make  signs,  scowl  at  him.  '  Give  it  to  her.' ....  He  does 
not  stir.  He  is  like  a  dead  man.  You  can  imagine  the 
scene!....  Now....  as  he....  then  they  attempt  to  take  it 

off He  won't  let  it  go ! ....  At  last  he  himself  takes  it 

off,  and  hands  it  to  the  grand  duchess. 

" '  Here,  this  is  the  new  kind,'  said  the  grand  duch- 
ess. But,  as  she  turned  it  over,  —  you  can  imagine  it 
—  out  came,  bukh  !  pears,  bonbons,  ....t^o  pounds  of 
bonbons  ! ....  He  had  been  to  market,  galubchik  !  " 

Vronsky  burst  out  laughing ;   and   long  afterwards, 


even  when  speaking  of  other  things,  the  memory  of 
the  unfortunate  helmet  caused  him  to  break  out  into 
a  good-natured  laugh  which  showed  his  handsome,  regu- 
lar teeth. 

Having  learned  all  the  news,  Vronsky  donned  his  uni- 
form with  the  aid  of  his  valet,  and  went  out  to  report 
himself.  After  he  had  reported,  he  determined  to  go 
to  his  brother's,  to  Betsy's,  and  to  make  a  few  calls,  so 
as  to  secure  an  entry  into  the  society  where  he  should 
be  likely  to  see  Madame  Karenina ;  and  in  accordance 
with  the  usual  custom  at  Petersburg,  he  left  his  rooms, 
expecting  to  return  only  when  it  was  very  late  at  night. 



TOWARD  the  end  of  the  winter  the  Shcherbatskys 
held  a  consultation  of  physicians  in  order  to  find  out 
what  was  the  state  of  Kitty's  health,  and  what  measures 
were  to  be  taken  to  restore  her  strength  ;  she  was  ill, 
and  the  approach  of  spring  only  increased  her  ailment. 
The  family  doctor  had  ordered  cod-liver  oil,  then  iron, 
and  last  of  all,  nitrate  of  silver ;  but  as  none  of  these 
remedies  did  any  good,  and  as  he  advised  them  to  take 
her  abroad,  it  was  then  resolved  to  consult  a  celebrated 

This  celebrated  doctor,  still  a  young  man,  and  very 
neat  in  his  appearance,  insisted  on  a  careful  investiga- 
tion of  the  trouble.  He  with  especial  satisfaction,  as  it 
seemed,  insisted  that  maidenly  modesty  is  only  a  relic 
of  barbarism,  and  that  nothing  is  more  natural  than  that 
a  young  man  should  make  examination  of  a  girl  in  un- 
dress. He  found  this  natural  because  he  did  it  every 
day,  and  he  was  conscious  of  no  impropriety  in  it,  as 
far  as  he  could  see ;  and,  therefore,  any  sense  of  shame 
on  the  part  of  the  girl  he  considered  not  only  a  relic  of 
barbarism,  but  also  an  insult  to  himself. 

It  was  necessary  to  submit,  since,  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  all  the  other  doctors  were  taught  in  the  same 
school  and  studied  the  same  books,  and  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  certain  persons  declared  that  this  celebrated 
doctor  was  a  bad  doctor,  yet  in  the  princess's  house  and 
in  her  circle  of  friends  it  was  admitted  somehow  that 
this  celebrated  doctor  was  the  only  one  known  who  had 
the  special  knowledge,  and  was  the  only  one  who  could 
save  Kitty's  life.  After  a  careful  examination  and  a 
prolonged  thumping  on  the  lungs  of  the  poor  sick  girl, 



trembling  with  mortification,  the  celebrated  physician 
carefully  washed  his  hands,  and  returned  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  gave  his  report  to  the  prince. 

The  prince,  with  a  little  cough,  hstened  to  what  he 
had  to  say,  and  frowned.  He  was  a  man  of  experience 
and  brains,  was  in  good  health,  and  he  had  no  faith  in 
medicine.  He  was  all  the  more  angry  at  this  comedy, 
because  possibly  he  alone  understood  what  ailed  his 

*'A  regular  humbug,"^  thought  the  old  prince,  as  he 
listened  to  the  doctor's  loquacity  concerning  the  symp- 
toms of  his  daughter's  illness,  mentally  applying  to  the 
celebrated  doctor  a  term  from  the  vocabulary  of  hunting. 

The  doctor,  on  his  part,  with  difficulty  disguised  his 
disdain,  with  difficulty  stooped  to  the  low  level  of  his 
intelligence,  for  this  old  gentleman.  It  seemed  to  him 
scarcely  necessary  to  speak  to  the  old  man,  since,  in  his 
eyes,  the  head  of  the  house  was  the  princess.  He  was 
ready  to  pour  out  before  her  all  the  floods  of  his  elo- 
quence. At  this  mbment  she  came  in  with  the  family 
doctor.  The  prince  left  the  room,  so  as  not  to  show 
too  clearly  how  ridiculous  this  whole  comedy  seemed 
to  him.  The  princess  was  troubled,  and  did  not  know 
what  course  to  take.  She  felt  a  little  guilty  in  regard 
to  Kitty. 

"  Well !  Doctor,  decide  on  our  fate,"  said  the  prin- 
cess ;  "tell  me  all." 

She  wanted  to  say,  "  Is  there  any  hope  ? "  but  her 
lips  trembled,  and  she  could  not  put  this  question  to 
him.     "  Well,  doctor  ?  " 

'*  In  a  moment,  princess,  I  shall  be  at  your  service, 
after  I  have  conferred  with  my  colleague.  I  shall  then 
have  the  honor  of  giving  you  my  opinion." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  be  alone .'' " 

•'Just  as  you  please." 

The  princess  sighed,  and  left  the  room. 

When  the  doctors  were  left  alone,  the  family  physi- 
cian  began  timidly  to  express  his  opinion  about   her 

1  Pustobrekh,  empty  barker,  signifying  one  who  has  had  no  luck,  but 
comes  home  with  large  storiea.  • — -Tk. 


condition,  and  gave  his  reasons  for  thinking  that  it  was 
the  beginning  of  tubercular  disease,  but .... 

The  celebrated  physician  listened,  and  in  the  midst  of 
his  diagnosis  took  out  his  great  gold  watch. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "but...." 

The  family  physician  stopped  respectfully. 

"You  know  that  we  can  hardly  decide  when  tubercu- 
lar disease  first  begins.  In  the  present  case,  apparently 
there  is  as  yet  no  decided  lesion.  We  can  only  surmise. 
And  the  symptoms  are :  indigestion,  nervousness,  and 
others.  The  question,  therefore,  stands  thus  :  What  is 
to  be  done,  granting  that  a  tubercular  development  is  to 
be  feared,  in  order  to  superinduce  improved  alimenta- 
tion .? " 

"  But  you  know  well,  in  such  cases  there  are  always 
some  moral  or  spiritual  causes,"  said  the  family  doctor, 
with  a  cunning  smile. 

"Of  course,"  replied  the  celebrated  doctor,  looking 
at  his  watch  again.  "  Excuse  me,  but  do  you  know 
whether  the  bridge  over  the  Ya'usa  is  finished  yet, 
or  whether  one  has  to  go  around .-'  Oh,  it  is  finished, 
is  it .''  Well !  Then  I  have  twenty  minutes  left.  — 
We  were  just  saying  that  the  question  remains  thus  : 
to  improve  the  digestion,  and  strengthen  the  nerves ; 
the  one  is  connected  with  the  other,  and  it  is  necessary 
to  act  on  both  halves  of  the  circle." 

"  But  the  journey  abroad  .-*  " 

"  I  am  opposed  to  these  journeys  abroad.  I  beg  you 
to  follow  my  reasoning.  If  tubercular  development  has 
already  set  in,  which  we  are  not  yet  in  a  condition  to 
prove,  then  a  journey  abroad  would  do  no  good.  The 
main  thing  is  to  discover  a  means  of  promoting  good 

And  the  celebrated  doctor  began  to  develop  his  plan 
for  a  cure  by  means  of  Soden  water,  the  principal  merits 
of  which  were,  in  his  eyes,  their  absolutely  inoffensive 

The  family  doctor  listened  with  attention  and  re. 

"  But  I  should  urge  in  favor  of  a  journey  abroad  the 


change  of  her  habits  and  dissociation  from  the  con 
ditions  that  serve  to  recall  unhappy  thoughts.  And 
finally,  her  mother  wants  her  to  go." 

"  Ah,  well,  in  that  case  let  them  go,  provided  always 
that  those  German  charlatans  do  not  aggravate  her 
disease They  must  follow....    Yes  !  let  them  travel." 

And  again  he  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  It  is  time  for  me  to  go ; "  and  he  started  for  the 

The  celebrated  doctor  explained  to  the  princess  that 
he  wished  to  see  the  invalid  once  more  —  a  sense  of 
propriety  dictated  this. 

"What!  have  another  examination  .'' "  cried  the  prin- 
cess, with  horror. 

"  Oh,  no  !  only  a  few  minor  points,  princess." 

"Then  come  in,  I  beg  of  you." 

And  the  mother  ushered  the  doctor  into  the  drawing- 
room  where  Kitty  was.  Emaciated  and  flushed,  with  a 
peculiar  gleam  in  her  eyes,  the  result  of  the  mortifica- 
tion she  had  borne,  Kitty  was  standing  in  the  middle  of 
the  room.  When  the  doctor  came  in  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  and  she  turned  crimson.  Her  whole  illness 
and  the  medical  treatment  seemed  to  her  such  stupid, 
even  ridiculous  nonsense.  The  medical  treatment  of  her 
case  seemed  to  her  as  absurd  as  to  gather  up  the  frag- 
ments of  a  broken  vase.  Her  heart  was  broken,  and 
could  it  be  healed  by  pills  and  powders .''  But  it  was 
impossible  to  wound  her  mother's  feelings,  the  more  be- 
cause her  mother  felt  that  she  had  been  to  blame. 

"  Will  you  sit  down,  princess  ? "  said  the  celebrated 

With  a  smile  he  sat  down  in  front  of  her,  felt  her 
pulse,  and  with  a  smile  began  a  series  of  wearisome 
questions.  At  first  she  replied  to  them,  then  suddenly 
arose  impatiently. 

"  Excuse  me,  doctor ;  but,  indeed,  this  all  leads  to 
nothing.  This  is  the  third  time  that  you  have  asked 
me  the  same  question." 

The  celebrated  doctor  took  no  offense, 

"It  is  her  nervous  irritability,"  he  remarked  to  the 


princess  when  Kitty  had  gone  from  the  room.  "  How- 
ever, I  had  finished."  .... 

And  the  celebrated  doctor  explained  the  young  prin- 
cess's condition  to  her  mother,  treating  her  as  a  woman 
of  remarkable  intelligence,  and  concluded  with  direc- 
tions how  to  drink  those  waters  which  were  valueless. 

On  the  question,  "  Is  it  best  to  take  her  abroad  ? "  the 
doctor  pondered  deeply,  as  if  he  were  deciding  a  diffi- 
cult problem.  The  decision  was  at  last  expressed  :  '  Go, 
but  put  no  faith  in  charlatans,  and  consult  him  in  every= 

After  the  doctor's  departure,  everybody  felt  as  if 
something  jolly  had  happened.  The  mother,  in  much 
better  spirits,  rejoined  her  daughter,  and  Kitty  declared 
that  she  was  better  already.  Often,  almost  all  the  time, 
of  late,  she  felt  obliged  to  pretend. 

"  Truly,  I  am  well,  viaman,  but  if  you  desire  it,  let  us 
go,"  said  she  ;  and  in  her  endeavor  to  show  that  she 
was  interested  in  the  journey,  she  began  to  speak  of 
their  preparations. 


Shortly  after  the  doctor  went,  Dolly  came.  She 
knew  that  the  consultation  was  to  take  place  that  day ; 
and  though  she  was  as  yet  scarcely  able  to  go  out,  hav- 
ing had  a  little  daughter  toward  the  end  of  the  winter, 
and  although  she  had  many  trials  and  cares  of  her  own, 
she  left  her  nursing  baby  and  one  of  the  little  girls  who 
was  ailing,  and  came  to  learn  what  Kitty's  fate  should  be. 

"Well !  how  is  it  "i  "  she  said,  as  she  came  into  the 
drawing-room  with  her  hat  on.  "  You  are  all  happy ! 
Then  all  is  well?" 

They  endeavored  to  tell  her  what  the  doctor  had 
said ;  but  it  seemed  that,  although  the  doctor  had 
spoken  very  fluently  and  lengthily,  no  one  was  able  to 
tell  what  he  had  said.  The  only  interesting  point  was 
the  decision  in  regard  to  the  journey  abroad. 

Dolly   sighed    involuntarily.      Her   sister,  -her   best 


',  was  going  away  ;  and  life  for  her  was  not  joy- 
ous. Her  relations  with  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  since 
the  reconciliation  had  become  humiliating ;  the  union 
brought  about  by  Anna  had  not  been  of  long  duration, 
and  the  family  concord  had  broken  down  in  the  same 
place.  There  was  nothing  definite,  but  Stepan  Arka- 
dyevitch was  scarcely  ever  at  home,  there  was  scarcely 
ever  any  money  in  the  house,  and  suspicions  of  his 
unfaithfulness  constantly  tormented  Dolly,  but  she  kept 
driving  them  away  in  terror  of  the  unhappiness  which 
jealousy  caused  her.  The  first  explosion  of  jealousy, 
having  been  lived  down,  could  not  indeed  be  experi- 
enced again ;  and  even  the  discovery  of  his  unfaithful- 
ness could  not  have  such  an  effect  on  her  as  it  had  the 
first  time.  Such  a  discovery  now  would  only  break  up  the 
family,  and  she  preferred  to  shut  her  eyes  to  his  decep- 
tion, despising  him,  and  above  all  herself,  because  of  this 
weakness.  Moreover,  the  cares  of  a  numerous  family 
constantly  annoyed  her ;  first  the  nursing  of  her  baby 
was  unsatisfactory,  then  the  nurse  went  off,  and  now  one 
of  the  children  was  ill. 

"And  how  are  the  children  .-*  "  asked  the  princess. 

'Akh  ,  maman  !  we  have  so  many  tribulations.  Lili 
is  ill  in  bed,  and  I  am  afraid  it  is  the  scarlatina.  I 
came  out  now  to  see  how  you  were,  for  there'll  be  no 
getting  out  for  me  after  this,  if  it  is  scarlatina — which 
God  forbid ! " 

The  old  prince  also,  after  the  doctor's  departure,  came 
out  from  his  library,  presented  his  cheek  to  Dolly,  ex- 
changed a  few  words  with  her,  and  then  turned  to  his 
wife :  — 

"  What  decision  have  you  come  to  }  Shall  you  go  ? 
Well !  and  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  \  " 

"  I  think,  Aleksandr,  that  you  had  better  stay  at 

"  Just  as  you  please." 

"  Maman,  why  does  n't  papa  come  with  us  ? "  said 
Kitty,     "  It  would  be  gayer  for  him  and  for  us." 

The  old  prince  got  up  and  smoothed  Kitty's  hair  with 
his  hand  ;  she  raised  her  head,  and  with  an  effort  smiled 


as  she  looked  at  him  ;  it  always  seemed  to  her  that  he 
understood  her  better  than  any  one  else  in  the  family, 
though  he  did  not  say  much.  She  was  the  youngest, 
and  therefore  her  father's  favorite  daughter,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  that  his  love  made  him  clairvoyant. 
When  she  saw  his  kind  blue  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  her, 
it  seemed  to  her  that  he  read  her  very  soul,  and  saw  all 
the  evil  that  was  working  there.  She  blushed,  and  bent 
toward  him,  expecting  a  kiss ;  but  he  only  pulled  her 
hair,  saying:  — 

"  These  stupid  cJdgnons !  one  never  gets  down  to 
the  real  daughter,  but  you  caress  the  hair  of  departed 
females.  Well !  Dolinka,"  turning  to  his  eldest  daugh- 
ter, "  what  is  that  trump  of  yours  doing  }  " 

"  Nothing,  papa,"  said  Dolly,  perceiving  that  her 
father  referred  to  her  husband  ;  "  he  is  always  away 
from  home,  and  I  scarcely  ever  see  him,"  she  could  not 
refrain  from  adding,  with  an  ironical  smile. 

"  Has  he  not  gone  yet  to  the  country  to  sell  his 
wood  ?" 

"  No  ;  he  is  always  putting  it  off." 

"  Truly,"  said  the  old  prince,  "  is  he  taking  after  me  ? 
—  I  hear  you,"  he  said  in  reply  to  his  wife,  and  sitting 
down.  "And  as  for  you,  Katya,"  he  said,  addressing  his 
youngest  daughter,  "  do  you  know  what  you  ought  to 
do  ?  Sometime,  some  fine  morning,  wake  up  and  say, 
'  There !  I  am  perfectly  well  and  happy,  papa,  and  we 
must  go  for  our  early  morning  walk  in  the  cold,'  ha  ? " 

What  her  father  said  seemed  very  simple,  but  at  his 
words  Kitty  felt  confused  and  disconcerted  like  a  con- 
victed criminal.  "Yes,  he  knows  all,  he  understands 
all,  and  these  words  mean  that  I  ought  to  overcome  my 
humiliation,  however  great  it  has  been." 

She  could  not  summon  up  the  courage  to  reply.  She 
began  to  say  something,  but  suddenly  burst  into  tears, 
and  ran  from  the  room. 

"Just  like  'your  tricks!"  said  the  princess  to  her 
husband,  angrily.  "  You  always ....  "  and  she  began  one 
of  her  tirades. 

The  prince  listened  for  some  time  to  her  reproaches, 


and  made  no  reply,  but  his  face  kept  growing  darker 
and  darker. 

"She  is  so  sensitive,  poor  little  thing,  so  sensitive! 
and  you  don't  understand  how  she  suffers  at  the  slight- 
est allusion  to  the  cause  of  her  suffering.  Akh !  how 
mistaken  we  are  in  people  !  "  said  the  princess. 

And  by  the  change  in  the  inflection  of  her  voice, 
Dolly  and  the  prince  perceived  that  she  had  reference 
to  Vronsky. 

"  I  don't  understand  why  there  are  not  any  laws  to 
punish  such  vile,  such  ignoble  men." 

"Akh!  do  hear  her,"  said  the  prince  with  a  frown, 
getting  up  from  his  chair  and  evidently  anxious  to  make 
his  escape,  but  halting  on  the  threshold  :  — 

"  There  are  laws,  matushka ;  and  if  you  force  me  to 
this,  I  will  tell  you  who  is  to  blame  in  all  this  trouble. 
You,  you  alone !  There  are  laws  against  such  young 
fops,  and  there  always  will  be ;  and  if  things  had  not 
been  as  they  ought  never  to  have  been,  old  man  that  I 
am,  I  should  have  put  that  dandy  on  the  fence.  Yes, 
and  now  to  cure  her,  you  bring  in  these  quacks." 

The  prince  would  have  had  still  more  to  say,  but  as 
soon  as  the  princess  heard  his  tone  she  immediately 
became  humble  and  repentant,  as  always  happened  when 
important  questions  came  up. 

"  Alexandre  !  Alexandre  !  "  she  murmured,  going  up 
to  him,  and  weeping. 

The  prince  held  his  peace  when  he  saw  her  tears. 
He  went  to  meet  her  :  — 

"Well,  let  it  go,  let  it  go.  I  know  that  it  is  hard  for 
you  also.     What  is  to  be  done  .■*     There  is   no  great 

harm.     God   is   merciful Thank  you!"  said  he,  not 

knowing  what  he  said,  and  replying  to  the  princess's 
damp  kiss  which  he  felt  on  his  hand.  Then  the  prince 
left  the  room. 

As  soon  as  Kitty,  weeping,  had  left  the  room,  Dolly, 
with  her  maternal  domestic  instinct,  perceived  that  this 
was  an  affair  which  required  a  woman's  management, 
and  she  was  preparing  to  follow  her.  She  took  her  hat 
and   morally  tucking   up  her  sleeves,  prepared  to  act 


But  when  her  mother  began  to  attack  her  father,  she 
tried  to  restrain  her,  as  far  as  her  filial  respect  allowed. 
When  the  prince's  outburst  occurred,  she  said  nothing ; 
she  was  ashamed  for  her  mother  and  she  felt  a  deep 
affection  because  of  the  instant  return  of  his  good- 
nature ;  but  when  he  went  out,  she  determined  to  do 
the  chief  thing  that  was  necessary  — to  go  to  Kitty 
and  calm  her. 

"  I  have  long  wanted  to  tell  you,  tnaman;  did  you 
know  that  when  Levin  was  here  the  last  time,  he  in- 
tended to  offer  himself  to  Kitty .?     He  told  Stiva." 

"What  is  that .-'     I  do  not  understand  ....  " 

"  Then  perhaps  Kitty  refused  him  ? ....  Did  n't  she  tell 

"  No,  she  did  not  say  anything  to  me  about  either  of 
them  ;  she  is  too  proud.  But  I  know  that  all  this  comes 
from....  " 

"  Yes ;  but  think,  if  she  refused  Levin.  I  know 
that  she  would  not  have  done  so  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  other  one....  and  then  he  deceived  her  so  abom- 

It  was  terrible  to  the  princess  to  think  how  blame- 
worthy she  had  been  toward  her  daughter,  and  she  grew 

"Akh!  I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  Nowadays 
every  girl  wants  to  live  as  she  pleases,  and  not  to  say 
anything  to  her  mother,  and  so  it  comes  that ....  " 

*^  Maman^  I  am  going  to  see  her." 

"  Go  !  I  will  not  prevent  you,"  said  her  mother. 


As  she  entered  Kitty's  pretty  little  rosy  boudoir,  with 
figurines  in  vieiix  saxe,  a  room  as  youthful,  as  rosy,  as 
gay  as  Kitty  herself  had  been  two  months  before, 
Dolly  remembered  with  what  pleasure  and  interest  the 
two  had  decorated  it  the  year  before ;  how  happy  and 
gay  they  were  then !  She  felt  a  chill  at  her  heart  as 
she  saw  her  sister  sitting  on  a  low  chair  near  the  door, 


her  motionless  eyes  fixed  on  a  corner  of  the  carpet. 
Kitty  glanced  up  at  her  sister,  but  the  cold  and  rather 
stern  expression  of  her  face  underwent  no  change. 

"  I  am  going  now,  and  I  may  be  confined  at  home, 
and  it  will  be  impossible  for  you  to  see  me,"  said  Darya 
Aleksandrovna,  sitting  down  near  her  sister;  "I  wanted 
to  have  a  little  talk  with  you." 

"  What  about  ? "  asked  Kitty,  quickly  raising  her  head 
in  alarm. 

"  What  else  than  about  your  sorrow  ? " 

"  I  have  no  sorrow." 

"That'll  do,  Kitty.  "Do  you  really  imagine  that  I 
don't  know .-'  I  know  everything  ;  and  believe  me,  this 
is  such  a  trifle ....     All  of  us  have  been  through  this." 

Kitty  said  nothing,  and  her  face  resumed  its  severe 

"  He  is  not  worth  the  trouble  that  you  have  given 
yourself  because  of  him,"  continued  Darya  Aleksan- 
drovna, coming  right  to  the  point. 

"Yes  !  because  he  jilted  me!  "  murmured  Kitty,  with 
trembling  voice.  "Don't  speak  of  it,  please  don't 
speak  of  it ! " 

"But  who  said  that  to  you.^  No  one  said  such  a 
thing  !  I  am  sure  that  he  was  in  love  with  you,  — that 
he  is  still  in  love  with  you  ;  but ....  " 

"Ah!  nothing  exasperates  me  so  as  compassion," 
cried  Kitty,  in  a  sudden  rage.  She  turned  around  in 
her  chair,  flushed  scarlet,  and  moved  her  belt-buckle 
back  and  forth  from  one  hand  to  the  other,  clutching 
it  in  her  fingers. 

Dolly  well  knew  this  habit  of  her  sister  when  she  was 
provoked.  She  knew  that  she  was  capable  of  forgetting 
herself,  and  saying  harsh  and  cruel  things  in  moments 
of.  petulance,  and  she  tried  to  calm  her;  but  it  was  too 

"  What,  what  do  you  wish  me  to  understand }  what  is 
it  ? "  cried  Kitty,  talking  fast :  —  "that  I  was  in  love  with 
a  man  who  did  not  care  for  me,  and  that  I  am  dying 
of  love  for  him .-'  And  it  is  my  sister  who  says  this  to 
me!  —  my  sister  who  thinks  that ....  that ....  that ....  she 

VOL.  I.  —  II 


is  showing  me  her  sympathy! ....  I  hate  such  sympathy 
and  such  hypocrisy  !  " 

"Kitty,  you  are  unjust." 

"  Why  do  you  torment  me  .-' " 

"  Why,  on  the  contrary  ....  I  saw  that  you  were  sad ...." 

Kitty  in  her  anger  did  not  heed  her. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  break  my  heart  over,  and  need  no 
consolation.  I  am  too  proud  ever  to  love  a  man  who 
does  not  love  me." 

"  Well !  I  do  not  say  ....  I  say  only  one  thing  ....  Tell 
me  the  truth,"  added  Darya  Aleksandrovna,  taking  her 
hand.     "Tell  me,  did  Levin  speak  to  you  }  ".... 

At  the  name  of  Levin,  Kitty  lost  all  control  of  her- 
self ;  she  sprang  up  from  her  chair,  threw  the  buckle  on 
the  floor,  and  with  quick,  indignant  gestures  cried :  — 

"  Why  do  you  speak  to  me  of  Levin  ?  I  don't  see 
why  you  need  to  torment  me.  I  have  already  said,  and 
I  repeat  it,  that  I  am  proud,  and  never,  never  would  I  do 
what  you  have  done,  — go  back  to  a  man  who  had  been 
false  to  me,  who  had  made  love  to  another  woman.  I 
do  not  understand  this  ;  you  can,  but  I  cannot !  " 

As  she  said  these  words,  she  looked  at  her  sister,  and 
seeing  that  Dolly  bent  her  head  sadly  without  answering, 
she  sat  down  near  the  door  again,  and  hid  her  face  in 
her  handkerchief  instead  of  leaving  the  room  as  she  had 
intended  to  do. 

The  silence  lasted  several  minutes.  Dolly  was  think- 
ing of  herself.  Her  humiliation,  of  which  she  was  always 
conscious,  appeared  to  her  more  cruel  than  ever,  thus 
recalled  by  her  sister.  She  did  not  expect  such  bitter- 
ness from  her  sister,  and  it  made  her  angry.  But  sud- 
denly she  heard  the  rustling  of  a  dress,  a  broken  sob, 
and  some  one's  arms  were  thrown  around  her  neck. 
Kitty  was  on  her  knees  before  her. 

"  Dolinka,  I  am  so  unhappy !  "  she  murmured  in  ex- 
culpation ;  and  her  pretty  face,  wet  with  tears,  was  hid 
in  Dolly's  skirt. 

Those  tears  were  evidently  the  indispensable  lubricant 
without  which  the  machinery  of  mutual  communion 
between  the  two  sisters  could  not  work.     At  all  events, 


after  a  good  cry,  they  spoke  no  more  on  the  subject 
which  interested  them  both,  but  even  while  they  were 
talking  about  irrelevant  topics  they  understood  each 
other.  Kitty  knew  that  the  cruel  words  that  she  had 
uttered  in  her  anger,  about  the  husband's  unfaithfulness 
—  the  unfaithfulness  of  Dolly's  husband — and  her  hu- 
miliation, struck  deep  into  her  poor  sister's  heart,  but 
that  she  forgave  her.  Dolly,  on  her  side,  knew  all  that 
she  wanted  to  know,  she  was  convinced  that  her  suspi- 
cions were  correct,  that  the  pain  Kitty  felt,  the  irremedia- 
ble pain,  lay  in  the  fact  that  Levin  had  offered  himself  to 
her,  and  that  she  had  refused  him,  and  that  Vronsky  had 
played  her  false,  and  that  she  was  ready  to  love  Levin 
and  to  hate  Vronsky.  Kitty  said  not  a  word  about  this; 
she  spoke  only  of  the  general  state  of  her  soul. 

"  I  have  no  sorrow,"  she  said,  regaining  her  calmness 
a  little  ;  "  but  you  cannot  imagine  how  wretched,  disgust- 
ing, and  vulgar  everything  seems  to  me  —  above  all  my- 
self. You  cannot  imagine  what  evil  thoughts  come 
into  my  mind." 

"Yes,  but  what  evil  thoughts  can  you  have?"  asked 
Dolly,  with  a  smile. 

"The  most  abominable,  the  most  repulsive.  I  can- 
not describe  them  to  you.  It  is  not  melancholy,  and  it 
is  not  ennui.  It  is  much  worse.  It  is  as  if  all  the  good 
that  was  in  me  had  disappeared,  and  only  the  evil  was 
left.  Now  how  can  that  be,  I  tell  you  .-• "  she  asked, 
looking  in   perplexity  into   her   sister's   eyes.      "  Papa 

began  to  say  something  to  me  a  few  minutes  ago It 

seems  to  me  he  thinks  that  all  I  need  is  a  husband. 
Mamma  takes  me  to  the  ball.  It  seems  to  me  that  she 
takes  me  there  for  the  sole  purpose  of  getting  rid  of  me, 
of  getting  me  married  as  soon  as  possible.  I  know  that 
it  is  not  true,  and  yet  I  cannot  drive  away  these  ideas. 
So-called  marriageable  young  men  are  unendurable  to 
me.  It  always  seems  to  me  that  they  are  taking  my 
measure.  A  short  time  ago,  to  go  anywhere  in  a  ball 
gown  was  a  simple  delight  to  me ;  I  admired  myself,  I 
enjoyed  it ;  now  it  is  a  bore  to  me,  and  I  feel  ill  at  ease. 
Now,  what  do  you  think.-*....  The  doctor....  well ....  " 


Kitty  stopped  ;  she  wanted  to  say  further  that,  since 
she  had  felt  this  great  change  in  herself,  Stepan  Arka- 
dyevitch  had  become  unendurably  distasteful  to  her, 
that  she  could  not  see  him  without  the  most  repulsive 
and  unbecoming  conjectures  arising  in  her  mind. 

"  Indeed,  everything  takes  the  most  repulsive,  dis- 
gusting aspect  in  my  sight,"  she  continued.  "It  is  a 
disease,  —  perhaps  it  will  pass  away." 

"  But  don't  for  a  moment  think,..." 

"  I  cannot  help  it.  I  do  not  feel  at  ease  except  with 
you  and  the  children." 

"What  a  pity  that  you  can't  come  home  with  me 
now  ! " 

"  Well,  I  will  go.  I  have  had  scarlatina.  I  will  per- 
suade maman." 

Kitty  insisted  so  eagerly,  that  she  was  allowed  to  go 
to  her  sister's,  and  throughout  the  course  of  the  disease, 
—  which  proved  to  be  the  scarlatina,  —  she  looked  after 
the  children.  The  two  sisters  successfully  nursed  all 
the  six  children  ;  but  Kitty's  health  did  not  improve, 
and  at  Lent  the  Shcherbatskys  went  abroad. 


The  highest  Petersburg  society  is  remarkably  united. 
Every  one  knows  every  one  else,  and  every  one  exchanges 
visits.  But  in  this  great  circle  there  are  subdivisions. 
Anna  Arkadyevna  Karenina  had  friends  and  close  re- 
lations with  three  different  circles.  One  was  the  official 
circle,  to  which  her  husband  belonged,  composed  of  his 
colleagues  and  subordinates,  bound  together,  or  even 
further  subdivided,  by  the  most  varied,  and  often  the 
most  capricious,  social  relations.  It  was  now  difficult 
for  Anna  to  call  back  the  sentiment  of  almost  religious 
respect  which  at  first  she  felt  for  all  these  personages. 
Now  she  knew  them  all,  as  one  knows  people  in  a  pro- 
vincial city.  She  knew  what  habits  and  weaknesses 
were  characteristic  of  each,  and  what  feet  the  shoe 
pinched.     She  knew  what  were  their  relations  among 


themselves,  and  to  the  official  center.  She  knew  how 
this  one  agreed  with  that  and  on  what  grounds,  and  how 
another  disagreed  with  still  another,  and  wherefore. 
But  this  administrative  clique,  to  which  her  husband 
belonged,  could  never  interest  her,  in  spite  of  the  Coun- 
tess Lidya  Ivanovna's  suggestions,  and  she  avoided  it. 

The  second  circle  in  which  Anna  moved  was  that 
which  had  helped  AlekseY  Aleksandrovitch  in  his  career. 
The  center  of  this  circle  was  the  Countess  Lidya  Iva- 
novna ;  it  was  composed  of  aged,  ugly,  charitable,  and 
devout  women,  and  intelligent,  learned,  and  ambitious 
men.  One  of  the  clever  men  who  belonged  to  this  cir- 
cle had  called  it  the  "conscience  of  Petersburg  society." 
Karenin  was  very  much  devoted  to  this  circle ;  and 
Anna,  who  had  the  faculty  of  getting  along  with  all  peo- 
ple, had,  during  the  early  days  of  her  life  in  Petersburg, 
made  friends  in  its  number.  After  her  return  from 
Moscow,  this  set  of  people  seemed  to  her  insupportable  ; 
it  seemed  as  if  she  herself,  as  well  as  all  the  rest  of 
them,  were  hypocritical,  and  she  felt  depressed  and  ill 
at  ease  in  this  society.  She  saw  the  Countess  Lidya  as 
infrequently  as  she  possibly  could. 

Finally,  the  third  circle  in  which  Anna  had  connec- 
tions was  Society,  properly  speaking,  the  fashionable 
society  of  balls,  dinner-parties,  brilliant  toilets  —  the 
society  which  with  one  hand  lays  fast  hold  of  "the  court 
lest  it  descend  to  the  level  of  the  demi-monde,  which  the 
members  of  this  circle  affect  to  despise,  and  yet  whose 
tastes  are  not  only  similar,  but  the  same.  The  bond 
that  united  her  to  this  society  was  the  Princess  Betsy 
Tverskaya,  the  wife  of  one  of  her  cousins,  who  enjoyed 
an  income  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  rubles, 
and  who  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  Anna  as  soon  as 
she  came  to  Petersburg,  flattered  her,  introduced  her 
among  her  friends,  and  made  ridicule  of  the  Countess 
Lidya's  friends. 

"  When  I  am  old  and  ugly,  I  will  do  the  same,"  said 
Betsy ;  "  but  a  young  and  pretty  woman  like  yourself 
has  as  yet  no  place  in  such  an  asylum." 

Anna  at  first  had  avoided  as  far  as  possible  the  society 


to  which  the  Princess  Betsy  Tverskaya  belonged,  as  it 
called  for  expenses  beyond  her  means,  and  in  her  heart 
she  preferred  the  first-mentioned  coterie  ;  but  after  her 
visit  to  Moscow  all  this  was  changed.  She  neglected  her 
worthy  old  friends,  and  cared  to  go  only  into  grand  soci- 
ety. There  she  met  Vronsky,  and  experienced  tumultu- 
ous pleasure  in  these  meetings.  They  met  with  especial 
frequency  at  the  house  of  Betsy,  who  was  a  Vronskaya 
before  her  marriage,  and  was  an  own  cousin  of  the  count. 
Vronsky  went  everywhere  that  he  was  likely  to  meet 
Anna,  and,  if  possible,  spoke  to  her  of  his  love.  She 
gave  him  no  encouragement ;  but  every  time  she  met 
him,  there  flamed  up  in  her  soul  the  same  sense  of  ani- 
mation which  had  seized  her  the  moment  that  they  met, 
for  the  first  time,  on  the  train  at  Moscow ;  she  herself 
was  conscious  that  at  the  sight  of  him  this  joy  shone  in 
her  eyes,  in  her  smile,  but  she  had  not  the  power  to 
hide  it. 

Anna  at  first  sincerely  believed  that  she  was  angry 
because  he  persisted  in  following  her ;  but  one  evening, 
not  long  after  her  return  from  Moscow,  when  she  was 
present  at  a  house  where  she  expected  to  meet  him, 
and  he  failed  to  come,  she  perceived  clearly,  by  the 
pang  that  went  through  her  heart,  that  she  was  deceiv- 
ing herself,  that  this  insistence  of  his  not  only  was  not 
disagreeable  to  her  but  that  it  formed  the  ruling  passion 
of  her  life, 

A  famous  diva  was  singing  for  the  second  time,  and 
all  the  high  society  of  Petersburg  was  at  the  theater. 
Vronsky,  from  his  seat  in  the  first  row  saw  his  cousin 
there,  and  without  waiting  for  the  entr'acte,  left  to  visit 
her  box. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  come  to  dinner }  "  she  asked  ;  and 
then  with  a  smile  she  added,  so  as  to  be  heard  only  by 
him,  "  I  admire  this  clairvoyance  of  lovers  ;  s/te  was  not 
there.     But  come  to  my  house  after  the  opera." 

Vronsky  looked  at  her  questioningly.  She  nodded. 
He  thanked  her  with  a  smile  and  sat  down  by  her  side. 

"But  how  I  miss  your  pleasantries;   what  have  be- 


come  of  them  ?  "  continued  the  Princess  Betsy,  who  fol- 
lowed with  keen  pleasure  the  progress  of  this  passion. 
"  You  are  in  the  toils,  my  dear  !  " 

"  That  is  all  that  I  ask  for,"  he  replied,  with  his  calm, 
good-natured  smile,  "  to  be  in  the  toils.  If  I  complain, 
it  is  not  because  I  am  too  little  in  the  toils  if  the  truth 
must  be  told.     I  am  beginning  to  lose  hope." 

"  What  hope  could  you  have  ? "  asked  Betsy,  taking 
the  part  of  her  friend.  "  Let  us  have  a  clear  under- 
standing." But  the  fire  in  her  eyes  told  with  sufficient 
clearness  that  she  understood  as  well  as  he  did  what  his 
hope  meant. 

**  None,"  replied  Vronsky,  laughing,  and  showing  his 
regular  white  teeth.  "  Excuse  me,"  he  added,  taking 
the  opera-glasses  from  his  cousin's  hand,  in  order  to 
direct  it  across  her  bare  shoulder  at  one  of  the  opposite 
boxes.     "  I  fear  I  am  becoming  ridiculous." 

He  knew  very  well  that  in  Betsy's  eyes,  and  in  those 
of  her  world,  he  ran  no  risk  of  being  ridiculous  ;  he 
knew  very  well  that  in  the  eyes  of  such  people  the  role 
of  an  unsuccessful  lover  of  a  young  girl  or  an  unmarried 
woman  might  be  ridiculous ;  but  not  so  the  role  of  a 
man  who  pursues  a  married  woman  and  at  any  price 
makes  it  his  aim  to  lead  her  into  committing  adultery. 
This  role  is  something  beautiful  and  majestic  and  can 
never  be  ridiculous,  and  therefore  Vronsky,  as  he  handed 
back  the  opera-glasses,  looked  at  his  cousin  with  a  smile 
of  pride  and  joy  lurking  under  his  mustache. 

"  And  why  did  n't  you  come  to  dinner .''  "  she  asked 
again,  unable  to  refrain  from  admiration  of  him. 

"I  must  tell  you;  I  was  busy  ....and  what  about.-*  I 
will  give  you  one  guess  out  of  a  hundred  —  out  of  a  thou- 
sand ....  you  would  never  hit  it.  I  have  been  reconciling 
a  husband  with  his  wife's  persecutor.     Yes,  fact !  " 

"  What !  and  you  reconciled  them  .-* " 

"  Pretty  nearly." 

"  You  must  tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  Betsy,  rising. 
"Come  during  the  next  entr'acte^ 

"  Impossible  ;  I  am  going  to  the  French  Theater." 

"  From  Nilsson  ? "    said  Betsy,   with   horror,  though 


she  could  not  have  distinguished  Niisson  from  the  poor- 
est chorus-singer. 

"  But  what  can  I  do  ?  I  have  made  an  appointment 
in  order  to  finish  my  act  of  peacemaking." 

"Blessed  are  the  peacemakers,  for  they  shall  be 
saved,"  said  Betsy,  remembering  that  she  had  heard 
somewhere  some  such  quotation.  "Well,  then,  sit  down 
and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

And  she  resumed  her  seat. 


*'  It  's  a  little  improper,  but  so  amusing,  that  I  wanted 
awfully  to  tell  you  about  it,"  said  Vronsky,  looking  at 
her  with  sparkling  eyes.  "  However,  I  will  not  mention 
any  names." 

"  But  I  can  guess  ?  so  much  the  better ! " 
•'Listen,  then.     Two  gay  young  men  were  dining...." 
"Officers  of  your  regiment,  of  course  ...." 
"  I  did  not  say  that  they  were  officers,  but  simply 
young  men,  who  had  dined  well ...." 
"Translated,  tipsy ! " 

"  Possibly.  They  went  to  dine  with  a  comrade,  in 
most  excellent  spirits.  They  saw  a  pretty  young  woman 
passing  them  in  a  hired  carriage  ;  she  turns  around,  and, 
as  it  seems  to  them,  nods  to  them  and  laughs.  Of  course 
they  follow  her.  They  gallop  like  mad.  To  their 
amazement  their  beauty  stops  at  the  entrance  of  the 
very  house  where  they  are  going ;  she  mounts  to  the 
upper  floor,  and  they  see  nothing  but  a  pair  of  rosy  lips 
under  a  short  veil,  and  a  pair  of  pretty  little  feet." 

"You  describe  the  scene  with  so  much  feeling  that 
you  make  me  believe  that  you  were  in  the  party." 

"Why  do  you  accuse  me  so  soon.-"  Well!  the  two 
young  men  climb  up  to  their  comrade's  room,  where 
there  is  to  be  a  farewell  dinner,  and  there  they  drink, 
perhaps,  more  than  is  good  for  them,  as  is  usually  the 
case  at  farewell  dinners.  And  at  dinner  they  ask  who 
lives  on  the  top  story  of  that  house.     No  one  knows  any- 


thing  about  it ;  only  their  friend's  valet,  to  their  ques- 
tions, '  Do  any  mamselles  live  on  the  top  floor  ? '  replies 
that  there  are  a  good  many.  After  dinner  the  two 
young  men  go  into  their  friend's  library  and  write  a 
letter  to  the  unknown.  They  write  a  passionate  letter, 
a  declaration ;  they  themselves  carry  up  the  letter,  in 
order  to  explain  whatever  in  the  letter  might  not  be 
perfectly  understood." 

"  But  why  do  you  tell  me  such  horrible  things } 
Well } " 

"  They  ring.  A  girl  comes  to  the  door ;  they  give 
her  the  letter,  telling  her  they  are  so  desperately  in  love 
that  they  are  ready  to  die,  there  at  the  door.  The  girl 
is  in  doubt  and  parleys  with  them.  Suddenly  a  gentle- 
man appears,  red  as  a  lobster  and  with  side-whiskers  like 
sausages,  declares  that  there  is  no  one  there  except  his 
wife,  and  unceremoniously  puts  them  out  of  the  door." 

"  How  did  you  know  that  his  side-whiskers  were  like 
sausages  .-* " 

"  But  now  listen.  I  have  just  made  peace  between 

"  Well !  what  came  of  it .?  " 

"  This  is  the  most  interesting  part  of  the  affair.  The 
happy  couple  prove  to  be  a  titular  counselor  and  his 
wife.  The  titular  counselor  brings  a  complaint,  and  I 
am  obliged  to  serve  as  peacemaker.  What  a  peace- 
maker ! ....  I  assure  you  Talleyrand  compared  to  me 
was  nobody." 

"  What  were  your  difficulties .'' " 

"  Here  now  !  Listen  ! ....  We  make  excuses  as  in  duty 
bound,  as  :  *  We  are  desperately  sorry,'  we  said ;  '  we  beg 
you  to  pardon  us  for  this  unfortunate  misunderstanding.' 
The  titular  counselor  with  the  sausage-whiskers  seemed 
to  be  thawing ;  but  he  felt  it  necessary  to  express  his 
feelings,  and  as  soon  as  he  began  to  express  his  feelings 
he  began  to  get  wrathy,  and  to  say  harsh  things,  and 
again  I  was  obliged  to  bring  all  my  diplomatic  talents 
into  requisition  :  *  I  agree  that  their  conduct  was  repre- 
hensible, but  please  take  into  consideration  that  there 
was  a  misunderstanding  ;  they  were  young,  and  had  just 


come  from  a  good  dinner.  You  understand  !  Now  they 
are  sorry  from  the  bottom  of  their  hearts,  and  beg  you 
to  forgive  them  their  fault.'  The  titular  counselor  soft- 
ened still  more  :  '  I  agree  with  you,  count,  and  I  am 
ready  to  pardon  them  ;  but  you  perceive  that  my  wife, 
my  wife,  a  virtuous  woman,  has  been  exposed  to  insult, 
to  persecution,  to  the  impudence  of  good-for-nothing 
young  scound.... '  And  the  impudent,  good-for-noth- 
ing young  fellows  being  present,  I  had  to  exert  myself 
to  calm  them  down  ;  again  I  put  my  diplomacy  to  work, 
and  every  time  I  seem  on  the  point  of  success  my  titular 
counselor  gets  wrathy  again,  and  his  face  gets  red,  and 
his  sausages  begin  to  wag  up  and  down,  and  I  find  my- 
self drowned  in  the  waves  of  diplomatic  subtleties." 

•' Akh  !  we  must  tell  you  all  about  this,"  said  Betsy  to 
a  lady  who  at  this  moment  came  into  her  box.  "  It  has 
amused  me  much  !  " 

"  Well,  good  luck  go  with  you,"  she  added,  giving 
Vronsky  one  of  her  fingers,  as  she  held  her  fan  ;  and 
then,  shrugging  her  shoulders  so  as  to  keep  the  waist 
of  her  gown  from  coming  up,  so  that  she  might  be  as 
naked  as  possible  when  she  should  go  to  the  front  of 
the  box,  and  sit  down  in  the  full  blaze  of  gas  and  in  the 
eyes  of  all. 

Vronsky  went  to  the  French  Theater,  where  he  really 
had  to  meet  his  regimental  commander,  who  never  failed 
to  be  present  at  a  single  representation.  He  wished  to 
speak  with  him  in  regard  to  his  business  as  peacemaker 
which  had  occupied  and  amused  him  for  three  days. 
Petritsky,  whom  he  liked,  was  involved  in  this  affair,  and 
the  other  one  was  a  charming,  a  glorious  fellow,  young 
Prince  Kerdrof,  who  had  lately  joined  their  regiment. 
But  the  principal  point  was  that  the  affair  concerned 
the  interests  of  his  regiment. 

Both  the  young  men  belonged  to  Vronsky's  company. 
Venden,  the  titular  counselor,  had  come  to  the  regi- 
mental commander  with  a  complaint  that  the  oflficers 
had  insulted  his  wife.  His  young  wife  —  Venden  said  he 
had  been  married  only  half  a  year  —  had  been  to  church 
with  her  mother,  and,  feeling  indisposed,  owing  to  her 


ncate  condition,  so  that  she  could  not  stand  any  longer, 
had  engaged  the  first  decent  izvoshchik  at  hand.  The 
officers  had  chased  her;  she  was  frightened  and,  feeling 
still  more  ill,  had  run  up  the  stairs.  Venden  himself, 
who  had  just  returned  from  his  office,  heard  the 
sound  of  a  bell  and  voices.  He  came  out,  and,  seeing 
drunken  officers  with  a  letter,  he  had  put  them  out.  He 
demanded  that  they  should  be  severely  punished. 

"  No,  it 's  all  very  well  to  talk,"  said  the  regimental 
commander  to  Vronsky,  whom  he  had  asked  to  join 
him,  "  but  Petritsky  is  becoming  unbearable.  Not  a 
week  passes  by  without  some  scandal.  This  chinovnik 
will  not  stop  here,  he  will  go  farther." 

Vronsky  saw  all  the  unpleasantness  of  this  affair,  and 
he  felt  that  a  duel  should  be  avoided,  and  that  every- 
thing should  be  done  to  make  the  titular  counselor  re- 
lent and  smooth  over  the  scandal.  The  regimental 
commander  had  summoned  him  because  he  knew  he 
was  a  shrewd  and  gentlemanly  man,  and  zealous  for  the 
interests  of  the  regiment.  They  had  talked  the  matter 
over  and  decided  that  Vronsky,  accompanied  by  Petrit- 
sky and  Kerdrof,  should  go  to  make  their  excuses  to 
the  titular  counselor.  The  regimental  commander  and 
Vronsky  both  realized  that  Vronsky's  name  and  his 
fliigel-adjutant's  monogram  ought  to  have  a  great  effect 
in  soothing  the  titular  counselor.  In  reality  these  two 
influences  proved  partially  efficacious,  but  the  results 
of  the  reconciliation  remained  in  doubt,  as  Vronsky 

When  he  reached  the  French  Theater,  Vronsky  took 
the  regimental  commander  into  the  lobby,  and  told  him 
of  his  success,  or  rather  lack  of  success.  After  reflec- 
tion the  regimental  commander  decided  to  leave  the 
matter  in  abeyance ;  but  afterward  he  began  to  ques- 
tion Vronsky  regarding  the  details  of  the  interview,  and 
he  could  not  help  laughing  as  he  heard  Vronsky  tell  how 
the  titular  counselor  kept  suddenly  flaming  out  in  wrath 
as  he  recalled  the  particulars  of  the  affair,  and  how 
Vronsky,  veering  round  at  the  last  mention  of  reconcili- 
ation, had  withdrawn,  pushing  Petritsky  before  him,  and 


his  repeated  attempts  to  bring  him  into  a  suitable  frame 
of  mind. 

"It  is  a  wretched  piece  of  business,  but  comical 
enough.  Kerdrof  cannot  fight  with  this  gentleman. 
Was  he  so  horribly  angry  ? "  he  asked,  laughing.  "  And 
how  do  you  like  Claire  this  evening.?  —  charming !" 
said  he,  referring  to  a  new  French  actress.  "  One  can't 
see  her  too  often ;  she  is  always  new.  Only  the  French 
can  do  that !  " 


The  Princess  Betsy  left  the  theater  without  waiting 
for  the  end  of  the  last  act.  She  had  scarcely  had  more 
than  time  enough,  after  reaching  home,  to  go  into  her 
dressing-room,  and  scatter  a  little  rice-powder  over  her 
long,  pale  face,  rearrange  her  toilet,  and  order  tea  to  be 
served  in  the  large  drawing-room,  when  the  carriages 
began  one  after  another  to  arrive  at  her  enormous  house 
on  the  Bolshaya  Morskaya.  The  guests  came  up  to  the 
wide  entrance,  and  a  portly  Swiss  who  during  the  morn- 
ing read  the  newspaper  for  the  edification  of  passers-by, 
as  he  sat  behind  the  glass  door,  now  kept  noiselessly 
opening  this  great  door  and  admitting  the  visitors. 
They  came  in  by  one  door  almost  at  the  same  instant 
that  by  another  came  the  mistress  of  the  mansion,  with 
renewed  color,  and  hair  rearranged.  The  walls  of  the 
great  drawing-room  were  hung  with  somber  draperies, 
and  on  the  floor  were  thick  rugs.  On  the  table,  which 
was  covered  with  a  cloth  of  dazzling  whiteness,  shining  in 
the  light  of  numberless  candles,  stood  a  silver  samovar 
and  a  tea-service  of  transparent  porcelain. 

The  princess  took  her  place  behind  the  samovar  and 
drew  off  her  gloves.  With  the  help  of  attentive  servants, 
the  guests  brought  up  chairs  and  took  their  places, 
dividing  into  two  camps,  the  one  around  the  princess, 
the  other  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  drawing-room 
around  the  wife  of  a  foreign  ambassador,  a  handsome 
lady,   dressed   in   black  velvet,  and   with   black,   well- 


defined  eyebrows.  The  conversation,  as  usual  at  the 
beginning  of  a  reception,  was  desultory,  being  inter- 
rupted by  the  arrival  of  newcomers,  offers  of  tea,  and 
the  exchange  of  salutations,  and  seemed  to  be  endeavor- 
ing to  find  a  common  subject  of  interest. 

"  She  is  remarkably  handsome  for  an  actress ;  you 
can  see  that  she  has  studied  Kaulbach,"  said  a  diploma- 
tist in  the  group  around  the  ambassador's  wife.  "  Did 
you  notice  how  she  fell .-'  "  .... 

"Akh  !  please  let  us  not  speak  of  Nilsson.  Nothing 
new  can  be  said  about  her,"  said  a  great  fat  lady,  with 
light  complexion,  without  either  eyebrows  or  cJiigiion, 
and  dressed  in  an  old  silk  gown.  This  was  the  Princess 
Miagkaya,  famous  for  her  simplicity  and  frightful  man- 
ners, and  surnamed  the  Enfant  terrible.  Princess  Miag- 
kaya was  seated  between  the  two  groups,  listening  to 
what  was  said  on  both  sides  of  her,  and  taking  impartial 
interest  in  both.  "This  very  day,  three  people  have 
made  that  same  remark  about  Kaulbach.  It  must  be 
fashionable.  I  don't  see  why  that  phrase  should  be  so 

The  conversation  was  cut  short  by  this  remark,  and 
a  new  theme  had  to  be  started. 

"Tell  us  something  amusing,  but  don't  let  it  be 
naughty,"  said  the  ambassador's  wife,  who  was  a  mis- 
tress of  the  art  of  conversation  called,  by  the  English, 
small  talk.  She  was  addressing  the  diplomatist,  who 
was  at  a  loss  what  topic  to  start. 

"  They  say  this  is  very  hard,  that  only  naughty  things 
are  amusing,"  replied  the  diplomatist,  with  a  smile. 
"  However,  I  will  do  my  best.  Give  me  a  theme. 
Everything  depends  upon  the  theme.  When  you  get 
that  for  a  background,  you  can  easily  fill  it  in  with  em- 
broidery. I  often  think  that  the  celebrated  talkers  of 
the  past  would  be  exceedingly  embarrassed  if  they  were 
alive  now ;  everything  intellectual  is  considered  so 

"That  was  said  long  ago,"  remarked  the  ambassa- 
dor's wife,  interrupting  him  with  a  smile. 

The  conversation  began   amiably,  and  for   the  very 


reason  that  it  was  too  amiable,  it  languished  again.  It 
was  necessary  to  have  recourse  to  an  unfailing,  never 
changing  subject — gossip. 

"Don't  you  think  that  there  is  something  Louis  XV. 
about  Tushkievitch  ? "  asked  he,  indicating  a  handsome, 
light-haired  young  man,  who  was  standing  near  the 

"  Oh,  yes  !  he 's  quite  in  the  style  of  the  drawing- 
room,  and  that  is  why  he  is  here  so  often." 

This  subject  sustained  the  conversation,  since  it 
consisted  wholly  of  hints  regarding  something  which 
could  not  be  treated  openly  in  that  drawing-room,  in 
other  words,  Tushkievitch's  relations  with  the  Princess 

Around  the  samovar,  the  conversation  hesitated  for 
some  time  upon  three  inevitable  subjects, — the  news 
of  the  day,  the  theater,  and  a  lawsuit  which  was  to  be 
tried  the  next  day.  At  last  the  same  subject  arose  that 
was  occupying  the  other  group  —  gossip. 

"Have  you  heard  that  Maltishcheva — that  is,  the 
mother,  not  the  daughter — has  had  a  costume  in  dia- 
ble  rose?" 

"  Is  it  possible  ?     No  !     That  is  delicious." 

"  I  am  astonished  that  with  her  sense,  —  for  she  is 
certainly  not  stupid,  —  she  does  not  perceive  how  ridic- 
ulous she  is." 

Every  one  found  something  in  which  to  criticize  and 
tear  to  pieces  the  unfortunate  Madame  Maltishcheva ; 
and  the  conversation  grew  lively,  brilliant,  and  gay, 
like  a  flaming  pyre. 

The  Princess  Betsy's  husband,  a  tall,  good-natured 
man,  a  passionate  collector  of  engravings,  hearing  that 
his  wife  had  guests,  came  into  the  drawing-room  before 
going  to  his  club,  and  desired  to  show  himself  in  her 
circle.  Noiselessly,  on  the  thick  carpet,  he  approached 
the  Princess  Miagkaya. 

"  How  did  you  like  Nilsson  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Akh !  Do  you  steal  in  upon  a  body  that  way  > 
How  you  startled  me !  "  she  cried.  "  Don't  speak  to 
me  about  the  opera,  I  beg  of  you ;  you  don't  know  any 


thing  about  music.  I  prefer  to  descend  to  your  level 
and  talk  with  you  about  your  engravings  and  majolicas. 
Well !     What  treasures  have  you  discovered  lately  .''  " 

"  If  you  would  like,  I  will  show  them  to  you  ;  but  you 
are  no  judge  of  them." 

"  Show  them  to  me  all  the  same.  I  am  getting  my 
education  among  these  —  bankers,  as  you  call  them. 
They  have  lovely  engravings.  They  like  to  show 

"Have  you  been  at  the  Schiitzburgs' .''"  asked  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  from  her  place  by  the  samovar. 

"Certainly,  ma  chkre.  They  invited  my  husband  and 
me  to  dinner,  and  they  told  me  that  the  sauce  at  this 
dinner  cost  a  thousand  rubles,"  replied  the  Princess 
Miagkaya,  in  a  loud  voice,  conscious  that  all  were  lis- 
tening to  her;  "and  it  was  a  very  poor  sauce,  too, — 
something  green.  I  had  to  return  the  compliment, 
and  I  got  them  up  a  sauce  that  cost  eighty-five  kopeks,^ 
and  all  were  satisfied.  I  can't  make  thousand-ruble 
sauces ! " 

"  She  is  unique,"  said  the  hostess. 

"Astonishing,"  said  another. 

The  Princess  Miagkaya  never  failed  of  making  her 
speeches  effective,  and  the  secret  of  their  effectiveness 
lay  in  the  fact  that,  although  she  did  not  always  select 
suitable  occasions,  as  was  the  case  at  the  present  time, 
yet  she  spoke  simply  and  sensibly.  In  the  society 
where  she  moved,  what  she  said  gave  the  effect  of  the 
most  subtle  wit.  She  could  not  comprehend  why  it 
had  such  an  effect,  but  she  recognized  the  fact,  and 
took  advantage  of  it. 

While  the  Princess  Miagkaya  was  speaking,  all  lis- 
tened to  her,  and  the  conversation  around  the  ambas- 
sador's wife  stopped  ;  so  the  hostess,  wishing  to  make 
the  conversation  more  united,  turned  to  the  ambassa- 
dor's wife  and  said  :  — 

"  Are  you  sure  that  you  will  not  have  some  tea  ? 
Then  please  join  us." 

"  No  ;  we  are  very  well  where  we  are,  in  this  corner,' 

*  One  ruble,  or  one  hundred  kopeks,  is  worth  eighty  cents. 


replied  the  ambassador's  wife,  with  a  smile,  resuming  the 
thread  of  a  conversation  which  interested  her  very  deeply. 

They  were  criticizing  Karenin  and  his  wife. 

"  Anna  is  very  much  changed  since  her  return  from 
Moscow.  There  is  something  strange  about  her,"  said 
one  of  her  friends. 

"The  change  is  due  to  the  fact  that  she  brought 
back  in  her  train  the  shadow  of  Aleksei  Vronsky,"  said 
the  ambassador's  wife. 

"  What  is  that  ?  There 's  a  story  in  Grimm  —  a  man 
without  a  shadow  —  a  man  deprived  of  his  shadow.  It 
was  a  punishment  for  something  or  other.  I  cannot  see 
where  the  punishment  lies,  but  it  must  be  disagreeable 
for  a  woman  to  be  without  her  shadow." 

"  Yes,  but  the  women  who  have  shadows  generally 
come  to  some  bad  end,"  said  Anna's  friend. 

"  Hold  your  tongues  !  "  ^  cried  the  Princess  Miagkaya, 
as  she  heard  these  words.  "Madame  Karenina  is  a 
charming  woman  ;  I  don't  like  her  husband,  but  I  like  her." 

"Why  don't  you  like  her  husband.-"'  asked  the  am- 
bassador's wife.  "  He  is  such  a  remarkable  man.  My 
husband  says  there  are  few  statesmen  in  Europe  equal 
to  him." 

"  My  husband  says  the  same  thing,  but  I  don't  be- 
lieve it,"  replied  the  Princess  Miagkaya.  "  If  our  hus- 
bands had  not  had  this  idea,  we  should  have  seen  Alekseif 
Aleksandrovitch  as  he  really  is  ;  and,  in  my  opinion,  he 

is  a  blockhead,      I  only  say  this  in  a  whisper Is  it 

not  true  how  everything  comes  out  clearly.'*  Formerly 
when  I  was  told  that  he  was  clever  I  used  to  try  to  dis- 
cover it,  and  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  stupid 
because  I  could  not  see  wherein  he  was  clever ;  but  as 
soon  as  I  said  to  myself, — under  my  breath,  —  he  is 
stupid,  all  was  explained.     Is  n't  that  so  ? " 

"  How  severe  you  are  to-night !  " 

"  Not  at  all,  I  have  no  other  alternative.  One  of  us 
two  is  stupid.  Now  you  know  that  one  can  never  say 
such  a  thing  of  oneself." 

1  Tipun  vam  na  yazuik !  A  slang  expression,  meaning  literally, 
"  May  your  tongue  have  the  pip  1 " 


"  No  one  is  satisfied  with  his  circumstances,  and  every 
one  is  satisfied  with  his  brain,"  said  a  diplomat,  quoting 
a  French  couplet. 

"  There,  that  is  the  very  thing,"  exclaimed  the  Prin- 
cess Miagkay  a  turning  to  him,  "but  I  make  an  exception 
of  Anna.  She  is  so  lovely  and  good.  Is  it  her  fault 
if  all  men  fall  in  love  with  her  and  follow  her  like 
shadows .-' " 

"Well!  I  do  not  allow  myself  to  judge  her,"  said 
Anna's  friend,  justifying  herself. 

"Because  no  one  follows  us  like  a  shadow,  it  does 
not  prove  that  we  have  the  right  to  judge." 

Having  thus  appropriately  disposed  of  Anna's  friend, 
the  Princess  Miagkaya  arose,  and  with  the  ambassador's 
wife  drew  up  to  the  table,  and  joined  in  the  general 
conversation  about  some  trifle.^ 

"  Whom  have  you  been  gossiping  about  ? "  asked 

"  About  the  Karenins.  The  princess  has  been  pictur- 
ing Alekser  Aleksandrovitch,"  replied  the  ambassador's 
wife,  sitting  down  near  the  table,  with  a  smile. 

"Shame  that  we  could  not  have  heard  it,"  said  Betsy, 
looking  toward  the  door.  "Ah  !  here  you  are  at  last," 
said  she,  turning  to  Vronsky,  who  at  that  moment 
came  in. 

Vronsky  knew,  and  met  every  day,  all  the  people 
whom  he  found  collected  in  his  cousin's  drawing-room  ; 
therefore  he  came  in  with  the  calmness  of  a  man  who 
rejoins  friends  from  whom  he  has  only  just  parted. 

"  Where  have  I  come  from  .-' "  said  he,  in  reply  to  a 
question  from  the  ambassador's  wife.  "  What  can  I  do  .-* 
I  must  confess, — from  Les  Bouffes.  'Tis  for  the  hun- 
dredth time,  and  always  with  a  new  pleasure.  It  is 
charming.  It  is  humiliating,  I  know,  but  I  get  sleepy  at 
the  opera ;  but  at  Les  Boiiffes  I  sit  it  out  up  to  the  very 
last  minute  and  enjoy  it.     To-night ....  " 

He  mentioned  a  French  actress,  and  was  going  to  tell 
some  story  about  her,  but  the  ambassador's  wife  stopped 
him  with  an  expression  of  mock  terror. 

^  Literally,  "  about  the  king  of  Prussia." 
VOL.1. —  12 


"  Please  don't  speak  to  us  of  that  fright !  " 

"Well !  I  will  not,  and  the  more  willingly  because  you 

all  know  these  frights." 

"  And  you  would  all  go  there  if  it  were  as  fashionable 

as  the  opera,"  added  the  Princess  Miagkaya. 


Steps  were  heard  near  the  door,  and  the  Princess 
Betsy,  knowing  that  it  was  Madame  Karenina,  looked 
at  Vronsky.  He  was  looking  toward  the  door,  and  his  face 
had  a  strange,  new  expression.  Joyfully,  expectantly, 
and  almost  timidly  he  gazed  at  Anna  as  she  entered, 
and  he  rose  slowly.  Anna  came  into  the  drawing-room, 
as  always  holding  herself  very  erect  and  looking  neither 
to  right  nor  to  left.  She  crossed  the  short  distance  be- 
tween her  and  the  hostess,  with  that  rapid,  light,  but 
decided  step  which  distinguished  her  from  all  the  other 
women  of  this  circle.  She  went  directly  up  to  Betsy, 
and  shook  hands  with  a  smile,  and  with  the  same  smile 
she  looked  at  Vronsky,  He  bowed  low  and  offered  her 
a  chair. 

She  responded  only  by  bending  her  head  a  little,  and 
blushed,  and  frowned.  But  instantly  she  was  nodding 
to  her  acquaintances  and  shaking  hands ;  then  she 
turned  to  Betsy  :  — 

"  I  have  been  at  the  Countess  Lidya's  ;  I  wanted  to 
get  away  earlier,  but  I  was  detained.  Sir  John  was 
there.     He  is  very  interesting." 

"  Oh,  that  missionary  ?  " 

"Yes;  he  related  many  very  curious  things  about 
life  in  India." 

The  conversation,  which  Anna's  entrance  had  inter- 
rupted, again  wavered,  like  the  flame  of  a  lamp  in  a 

i  "Sir  John!  yes,  Sir  John!  I  have  seen  him.  He 
speaks  well.  The  Vlasieva  is  actually  in  love  with 
him  ! " 


*  Is  it  true  that  the  youngest  Vlasieva  is  going  to 
marry  Topof  ? " 

"Yes  ;  people  say  that  it  is  fully  decided." 

"  I  am  astonished  at  her  parents.  They  say  that  it  is 
a  love-match." 

"  A  love-match  .■*  What  antediluvian  ideas  you  have  ! 
Who  speaks  of  love  in  our  days  .'' "  said  the  ambassador's 

"What  is  to  be  done  about  it  ?  That  foolish  old  cus- 
tom has  not  entirely  gone  out  of  date,"  said  Vronsky. 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  those  who  adhere  to  it ;  the 
only  happy  marriages  that  I  know  about  are  those  of 

"Yes  ;  but  how  often  it  happens  that  these  marriages 
of  reason  break  like  ropes  of  sand,  precisely  because  of 
this  love  which  you  affect  to  scorn  ! "  said  Vronsky. 

"  But  what  we  call  a  marriage  of  reason  is  where  both 
parties  take  an  equal  risk.  It  is  like  scarlatina,  through 
which  we  all  must  pass." 

"  In  that  case  it  would  be  wise  to  find  an  artificial 
means  of  inoculation  for  love,  as  for  small-pox." 

"  When  I  was  young  I  fell  in  love  with  a  sacristan ;  I 
should  like  to  know  what  good  that  did  me !  "  said  the 
Princess  Miagkaya. 

"  No  ;  but,  jesting  aside,  I  believe  that  to  know  what 
love  really  is,  one  must  have  been  deceived  once,  and 
then  been  set  right,"  said  the  Princess  Betsy. 

"  Even  after  marriage  ?  "  asked  the  ambassador's  wife, 

"  It  is  never  too  late  to  mend,"  said  the  diplomatist, 
quoting  the  English  proverb. 

"But  really,"  interrupted  Betsy,  "you  must  be  de- 
ceived, so  as  afterwards  to  get  into  the  right  path. 
What  do  you  think  about  this.''"  said  she,  addressing 
Anna,  who  was  listening  silently  to  the  conversation 
with  a  scarcely  perceptible  smile  on  her  firm  lips. 

"  I  think,"  said  Anna,  playing  with  her  glove,  which 
she  had  removed,  "I  think....  if  there  are  as  many 
opinions  as  there  are  heads,  then  there  are  as  many 
ways  of  loving  as  there  are  hearts." 


Vronsky  looked  at  her,  and  with  a  violent  beating  of 
the  heart  waited  for  her  answer ;  after  she  had  spoken 
those  words  he  drew  a  deep  breath,  as  if  he  had  escaped 
some  danger. 

She  turned  suddenly  to  Vronsky. 

"  I  have  just  had  a  letter  from  Moscow.  They  write 
me  that  Kitty  Shcherbatskaya  is  very  ill." 

"  Really,"  said  Vronsky,  with  a  frown. 

Anna  looked  at  him  with  a  severe  expression. 

"  Does  n't  that  interest  you  } " 

"  It  certainly  does.  I  am  very  sorry.  Exactly  what 
did  they  write  you,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  inquire } " 

Anna  arose  and  went  to  Betsy. 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  cup  of  tea  ? "  she  said,  standing 
behind  her  chair.  While  Betsy  was  pouring  the  tea, 
Vronsky  went  to  Anna. 

"  What  did  they  write  you  } " 

"  I  often  think  that  men  do  not  know  what  nobility 
means,  though  they  are  all  the  time  talking  about  it," 
said  Anna,  not  answering  his  question. 

**  I  have  been  wanting  to  tell  you  for  a  long  time," 
she  added,  and  taking  a  few  steps  she  sat  down  at  a 
corner  table  laden  with  albums. 

"  I  don't  quite  know  what  your  words  mean,"  he  said, 
offering  her  a  cup  of  tea. 

She  glanced  at  the  divan  near  her,  and  he  instantly 
sat  down  on  it. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  wanting  ,Jo  tell  you,"  she  con- 
tinued, without  looking  at  him.  "You  have  acted 
badly,  —  very  badly." 

"Don't  I  know  that  I  have?  But  whose  fault  was 

"Why  do  you  say  that  to  me?"  said  she,  with  a 
severe  look. 

"You  know  why,"  he  replied  boldly  and  joyously, 
meeting  her  gaze,  and  without  dropping  his  eyes. 

She,  not  he,  felt  confused. 

"This  simply  proves  that  you  have  no  heart,"  said 
she.  But  her  eyes  told  the  story,  that  she  knew  that 
he  had  a  heart,  and  that  therefore  she  feared  him. 


"What  you  were  talking  about  just  now  was  error, 
not  love." 

"  Remember  that  I  have  forbidden  you  to  speak  that 
word,  that  hateful  word,"  said  Anna,  trembling;  and 
instantly  she  felt  that  by  the  use  of  that  one  word 
"forbidden,"  she  recognized  a  certain  jurisdiction  over 
him,  and  thus  encouraged  him  to  speak  of  love.  "  For 
a  long  time  I  have  been  wanting  to  say  this  to  you," 
she  continued,  looking  steadily  into  his  eyes,  and  all 
aflame  with  the  color  that  burned  in  her  face.  "  I  have 
come  to-night  on  purpose,  knowing  that  I  should  find 
you  here  ;  I  have  come  to  tell  you  this  must  come  to  an 
end.  I  have  never  had  to  blush  before  any  one  before, 
and  you  somehow  cause  me  to  feel  guilty  in  my  own 

He  looked  at  her,  and  was  struck  with  the  new  spiri- 
tual beauty  of  her  face. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  .■* "  said  he,  simply  and 

"  I  want  you  to  go  to  Moscow,  and  beg  Kitty's 

"  You  do  not  want  that,"  said  he. 

He  saw  that  she  was  compelling  herself  to  say  one 
thing,  while  she  really  desired  something  else. 

"  If  you  love  me,  as  you  say  you  do,"  she  murmured, 
"  then  do  what  will  give  me  peace  !  " 

Vronsky's  face  lighted  up. 

"  Don't  you  know  that  you  are  my  life  ?  But  I  don't 
know  what  peace  means,  and  I  can't  give  it  to  you. 
Myself,  my  love,  I  can  give — ^yes,  I  cannot  think  of  you 
and  of  myself  separately.  For  me,  you  and  I  are  one. 
I  see  no  hope  of  peace  for  you  or  for  me  in  the  future. 
I  see  the  possibility  of  despair,  of  misfortune,  —  unless  I 
see  the  possibility  of  happiness,  and  what  happiness  ! ..., 
Is  it  really  impossible  ?  "  he  murmured,  with  his  lips  only, 
but  she  heard  him. 

She  directed  all  the  forces  of  her  mind  to  say  what 
she  ought ;  but,  instead  of  that,  she  looked  at  him  with 
love  in  her  eyes,  and  said  nothing. 

"  Ah  ! "  he  thought,  with  rapture,  "at  the  very  moment 


when  I  was  in  despair,  when  it  seemed  I  should  never 
succeed,  it  has  come  !    She  loves  me  !    She  confesses  it." 

"  Then  do  this  for  me,  and  never  speak  to  me  in  this 
way  again ;  let  us  be  good  friends,"  said  her  words  :  her 
eyes  told  a  totally  different  story. 

"  We  can  never  be  mere  friends ;  you  yourself  know 
it.  Shall  we  be  the  most  miserable,  or  the  happiest,  of 
human  beings  ?     It  is  for  you  to  decide." 

She  began  to  speak,  but  he  interrupted  her. 

"You  see  I  ask  only  one  thing,  the  right  of  hoping 
and  suffering,  as  I  do  now ;  if  it  is  impossible,  order  me 
to  disappear,  and  I  will  disappear ;  you  shall  not  see  me 
if  my  presence  is  painful  to  you." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  drive  you  away." 

"Then  change  nothing;  let  things  go  as  they  are," 
said  he,  with  trembling  voice.     "  Here  is  your  husband  !  " 

Indeed,  Alekse'f  Aleksandrovitch  at  that  instant  was 
entering  the  drawing-room,  with  his  calm  face  and  awk- 
ward gait. 

Glancing  at  his  wife  and  Vronsky,  he  went  first  to  the 
hostess,  and  then  he  sat  down  with  a  cup  of  tea,  and  in 
his  slow  and  well-modulated  voice,  in  his  habitual  tone 
of  persiflage,  which  seemed  always  to  deride  some  one 
or  something,  he  said,  as  he  glanced  around  at  the 
assembly :  — 

"  Your  Rarabouillet  is  complete,  —  the  Graces  and 
the  Muses ! " 

But  the  Princess  Betsy  could  not  endure  this  "  sneer- 
ing" tone  of  his,  as  she  called  it,  —  and,  like  a  clever 
hostess,  quickly  brought  him  round  to  a  serious  discus- 
sion of  the  forced  conscription.  Aleksef  Aleksandro- 
vitch immediately  entered  into  it,  and  began  gravely  to 
defend  the  new  ukase  against  Betsy's  attacks. 

Vronsky  and  Anna  still  sat  near  their  little  table. 

"  That  is  getting  rather  pronounced,"  said  a  lady,  in  a 
whisper,  indicating  with  her  eyes  Karenin,  Anna,  and 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  > "  said  Anna's  friend. 

Not  only  these  ladies,  but  nearly  all  who  were  in  the 
drawing-room,  even  the  Princess  Miagkaya  and  Betsy 


herself,  glanced  more  than  once  at  them  sitting  apart 
from  the  general  company,  as  if  it  disturbed  them. 
Only  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  never  once  looked  in 
their  direction,  and  was  not  diverted  from  the  interest- 
ing conversation  on  which  he  had  started. 

Betsy,  perceiving  the  disagreeable  impression  that  all 
felt,  substituted  some  one  else  in  her  place  to  listen  to 
Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch,  and  crossed  over  to  Anna. 

"  I  always  admire  your  husband's  clear  and  explicit  lan- 
guage," she  said.  "The  most  transcendental  thoughts 
seem  within  my  reach  when  he  speaks." 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  said  Anna,  with  a  radiant  smile  of  joy, 
and  not  understanding  a  word  that  Betsy  had  said. 
Then  she  went  over  to  the  large  table,  and  joined  in 
the  general  conversation. 

After  he  had  stayed  half  an  hour  Aleksef  Aleksandro- 
vitch spoke  to  his  wife  and  proposed  to  her  that  they 
should  go  home  together ;  but  she  answered,  without 
booking  at  him,  that  she  wished  to  remain  to  supper. 
Alekser  Aleksandrovitch  took  leave  of  the  company  and 

Madame  Karenina's  coachman,  a  portly  old  Tatar, 
in  his  lacquered  leather  coat,  was  having  some  difficulty 
in  restraining  his  left-hand  gray,  which  was  excited  with 
the  cold.  A  lackey  stood  holding  open  the  carriage 
door.  The  Swiss  was  standing  ready  to  open  the  outer 
door ;  Anna,  Arkadyevna  was  listening  with  ecstasy  to 
what  Vronsky  whispered,  while  she  was  freeing,  with 
nervous  fingers,  the  lace  of  her  sleeve,  which  had  caught 
on  the  hook  of  her  fur  cloak. 

"  You  have  said  nothing,  let  us  admit,  and  I  make  no 
claim,"  Vronsky  was  saying,  as  he  accompanied  her 
down,  "  but  you  know  that  it  is  not  friendship  that  I 
ask  fbr ;  for  me,  the  only  possible  happiness  of  my  life 
is  contained  in  that  word  that  you  do  not  like .... 

"  Love ...."  she  repeated  slowly,  as  if  she  had  spoken 
to  herself;  then  suddenly,  as  she  disentangled  her  lace, 
she  said,  "  I  do  not  like  this  word,  because  it  means  too 


much,  far  more  than  you  can  imagine,"  and  she  looked 
hirh  full  in  the  face.     "  Da  svidanya  i  "  ^ 

She  reached  him  her  hand,  and,  with  a  quick  elastic 
step,  passed  the  Swiss,  and  disappeared  in  her  carriage. 

Her  look,  her  pressure  of  his  hand,  filled  Vronsky 
with  passion.  He  kissed  the  palm  on  the  place  which 
she  had  touched,  and  went  home  with  the  happy  convic- 
tion that  that  evening  had  brought  him  nearer  to  the 
goal  of  which  he  dreamed,  than  all  the  two  months  past. 


AlekseV  Aleksandrovitch  found  nothing  unusual 
or  improper  in  the  fact  that  his  wife  and  Vronsky  had 
been  sitting  by  themselves  and  having  a  rather  lively 
talk  together ;  he  noticed  that  to  others  in  the  drawing- 
room  it  seemed  unusual  and  improper,  and  therefore  it 
seemed  to  him  also  improper.  He  decided  that  he 
ought  to  speak  about  it  to  his  wife. 

When  he  reached  home,  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch,  ac- 
cording to  his  usual  custom,  went  to  his  library,  threw 
himself  into  his  arm-chair,  and  opened  his  book  at  the 
place  marked  by  a  paper-cutter,  in  an  article  on  Papistry, 
and  read  till  the  clock  struck  one,  as  he  usually  did. 
From  time  to  time  he  passed  his  hand  across  his  high 
forehead,  and  shook  his  head,  as  if  to  drive  away  an  im- 
portunate thought.  At  his  usual  hour  he  arose  and  he 
prepared  to  go  to  bed.  Anna  Arkadyevna  had  not  yet 
returned.  With  his  book  under  his  arm,  he  went  up- 
stairs ;  but  that  evening,  instead  of  pursuing  his  usual 
train  of  reflections  and  thinking  over  his  governmental 
duties,  his  mind  was  occupied  with  his  wife  and  the  dis- 
agreeable impression  which  her  behavior  had  caused  him. 
Contrary  to  his  habit,  instead  of  going  to  bed  he  walked 
up  and  down  the  rooms  with  his  arms  behind  his  Back. 
He  could  not  go  to  bed  because  he  felt  that  first  it  was 
incumbent  on  him  to  ponder  anew  over  the  exigency 
that  had  arisen. 

1  Da  svidanya,  like  au  revoir  or  aufviieder'sehen,  has  no  equivalent  in 


When  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  must  have  a  talk  with  his  wife,  it  seemed 
to  him  very  simple  and  natural ;  but  now,  as  he  re- 
flected, it  occurred  to  him  that  the  matter  was  com- 
plicated and  perplexing. 

Aleksei"  Aleksandrovitch  was  not  jealous.  Jealousy 
in  his  opinion  was  insulting  to  a  wife,  and  a  husband 
should  trust  in  her.  But  he  did  not  ask  himself  why 
one  should  trust  her,  that  is  to  say,  why  a  man  should 
expect  a  young  wife  always  to  love  him. 

But  he  had  not  felt  any  lack  of  confidence  simply 
because  he  trusted  her,  and  said  to  himself  that  it  was 
the  proper  thing  to  do.  But  now,  although  it  was  his 
conviction  that  jealousy  is  a  disgusting  state  of  mind, 
and  that  it  was  his  duty  to  trust  his  wife  and  that  his 
faith  was  still  intact,  yet  he  felt  that  he  was  placed  in 
an  illogical  and  ridiculous  position,  and  he  knew  not 
what  he  ought  to  do. 

Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  was  now  standing  face  to 
face  with  life,  with  the  possibility  that  his  wife  was  in 
love  with  some  one  else  besides  him,  and  this  seemed 
to  him  very  senseless  and  incomprehensible,  because 
it  was  life  itself.  All  his  life  he  had  lived  and  labored 
in  a  round  of  official  duties  concerned  with  the  reflec- 
tions of  life.  And  whenever  he  came  in  contact  with 
life  itself  he  was  revolted  by  it.  Now  he  experienced 
a  sensation  such  as  a  man  feels,  who,  passing  calmly 
over  a  bridge  above  a  precipice,  suddenly  discovers  that 
the  arch  is  broken,  and  that  the  abyss  yawns  beneath  his 

This  abyss  was  actual  life  ;  the  bridge  —  the  artifi- 
cial life  which  he  had  been  living.  The  idea  that  his 
wife  could  love  another  man  occurred  to  him  for  the 
first  time,  and  filled  him  with  terror. 

Without  undressing,  he  kept  walking  back  and  forth 
with  regular  steps  :  over  the  echoing  parquetry  floor  of  the 
dining-room  lighted  with  a  single  burner  ;  over  the  carpet 
of  the  dark  drawing-room,  where  the  light  fell  on  his 
recently  painted  full-length  portrait,  over  the  divan  ;  and 
then  through  his  wife's  boudoir,  where  two  candles  were 


burning,  lighting  up  the  portraits  of  parents  and  friends, 
and  the  pretty  trinkets  upon  her  writing-table,  so  long 
familiar  to  him.  When  he  reached  the  door  of  her  bed- 
room he  turned  and  went  back. 

At  the  end  of  each  turn  in  his  pacing  back  and  forth, 
and  especially  on  the  hard-wood  floor  of  his  brightly 
lighted  dining-room,  he  would  stop  and  say  to  himself:  — 

"  Yes,  this  must  certainly  be  cut  short ;  it  must  be 
decided ;  I  must  tell  her  my  way  of  looking  at  it !  " 

And  then  he  would  turn  back  again. 

"But  what  can  I  say.?  what  decision  can  I  make.'" 
he  would  ask  himself  by  the  time  he  reached  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  find  no  answer. 

•'  But,  after  all,"  he  would  say,  as  he  turned  in  the 
library,  "what  has  been  done  .-•  Nothing.  She  had  a 
long  talk  with  him.  What  of  that }  But  whom  does 
not  a  society  woman  talk  with.?  To  be  jealous  is  de^ 
grading  both  her  and  me,"  he  would  say  to  himself  as 
he  reached  her  boudoir.  But  this  reasoning,  which  had 
hitherto  had  such  weight,  had  now  lost  its  cogency. 

From  the  door  of  her  sleeping-room  he  returned  again 
to  the  hall,  but,  as  he  crossed  fhe  dark  drawing-room, 
he  thought  he  heard  a  voice  saying  to  him,  "  It  is  not 
so !  the  fact  that  the  others  noticed  this  signifies  that 
there  must  be  something  in  it."  — And  by  the  time  he 
reached  the  dining-room  again  he  was  saying,  "  Yes,  the 
thing  must  be  decided,  and  broken  short  off."  And 
once  more  in  the  drawing-room,  just  before  he  turned 
about,  he  would  ask  himself  :  — 

"  How  can  I  decide  ?     How  can  I  tell  her.?" 

And  then  he  would  ask  himself,  "What  had  hap- 
pened.?" and  reply,  "Nothing,"  and  remember  that 
jealousy  is  a  feeling  degrading  to  a  woman  ;  but  again 
in  the  drawing-room  he  would  feel  persuaded  that  some- 
thing had  happened. 

His  thoughts,  like  his  steps,  followed  the  same  circle, 
and  he  struck  no  new  idea.  He  recognized  this,  rubbed 
his  forehead,  and  sat  down  in  her  boudoir. 

There,  as  he  looked  at  her  table,  with  its  malachite 
writing-tablet,  and  a  letter  unfinished,  his  thoughts  took 


another  direction ;  he  began  to  think  of  her,  and  how 
she  would  feel.  His  imagination  vividly  showed  him 
her  personal  life,  her  thoughts,  and  her  desires  ;  and  the 
idea  that  she  might,  that  she  must,  have  her  individual 
life  apart  from  his,  seemed  to  him  so  terrible,  that  he 
hastened  to  put  it  out  of  his  mind. 

This  was  the  abyss  which  it  was  so  dreadful  for  him 
to  gaze  into.  To  penetrate  by  thought  and  feeling  into 
the  soul  of  another  was  a  psychical  effort  strange  to 
Aleksei'  Aleksandrovitch.  He  considered  it  a  pernicious 
and  dangerous  mental  habit. 

"And  what  is  most  terrible,"  he  said  to  himself,  "is 
that  this  senseless  uncertainty  comes  on  me  just  as  I 
am  about  to  bring  my  work  to  completion,"  —  he  re- 
ferred to  a  scheme  which  he  was  at  that  time  managing, 
—  "  and  when  I  need  perfect  freedom  from  agitation 
and  all  my  mental  powers.  What  is  to  be  done  .-*  I  am 
not  one  of  those  men  who  can  endure  agitation  and 
annoyance  and  have  the  strength  of  mind  to  face  them." 

"  I  must  reflect ;  I  must  take  some  stand  and  get  rid 
of  this  annoyance,"  he  added  aloud.  "I  do  not  admit 
that  I  have  any  right  to  probe  into  her  feelings,  or  to 
scrutinize  what  is  going  on  in  her  heart ;  that  belongs 
to  her  conscience,  and  comes  into  the  domain  of  relig- 
ion," he  said  to  himself,  feeling  some  consolation  that 
he  had  found  a  domain  of  law  applicable  to  the  circum- 
stances that  had  arisen. 

"  So,"  he  continued,  "  the  questions  relating  to  her 
feelings  and  the  like  are  questions  of  conscience,  in 
which  I  have  no  concern.  My  duty  lies  clearly  before 
me.  As  head  of  my  family,  I  am  bound  to  guide  her, 
and  therefore,  to  a  certain  degree,  I  am  responsible.  I 
must  point  out  the  danger  which  I  see ;  I  must  watch 
over  her,  and  even  use  my  powers.     I  must  speak  to  her." 

And  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  formulated  in  his  mind 
everything  that  he  should  say  to  his  wife.  While  he 
was  thinking  it  over  he  regretted  the  necessity  of  wast- 
ing his  time  and  his  intellectual  powers  in  family  matters. 
But,  in  spite  of  him,  his  plan  assumed,  in  his  thought, 
the  clear,  precise,  and  logical  form  of  a  report :  — 


"  I  must  make  her  understand  as  follows  :  First,  The 
meaning  and  importance  of  public  opinion  and  deco- 
rum ;  Secondly,  The  religious  significance  of  marriage  ; 
Thirdly,  if  necessary.  The  unhappiness  which  it  might 
cause  her  son  ;  Fourthly,  The  unhappiness  which  might 
befall  herself." 

And  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  twisted  his  fingers  to- 
gether, palms  down,  and  made  the  joints  crack. 

This  gesture,  of  joining  his  hands  and  stretching  his 
finger-joints,  — a  bad  habit,  —  calmed  him,  and  conduced 
to  the  precision  of  which  he  now  stood  in  such  need. 

A  carriage  was  heard  driving  up  to  the  house.  Alek- 
sef Aleksandrovitch  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  hall. 
He  heard  his  wife's  step  on  the  stairway.  Aleksel 
Aleksandrovitch  had  his  sermon  all  ready ;  but  still  he 
stood  there,  squeezing  his  crossed  fingers  and  trying  to 
make  the  joints  crack.     One  joint  cracked. 

Even  as  he  heard  her  light  steps  on  the  stairs  he  was 
conscious  of  her  presence,  and,  though  he  was  satisfied 
with  his  sermon,  he  dreaded  the  explanation  that  was 


Anna  entered  with  bent  head,  playing  with  the  tas- 
sels of  her  bashluik  or  Turkish  hood.  Her  face  shone 
with  a  bright  glow,  but  this  bright  glow  did  not  betoken 
joy  ;  it  reminded  one  of  the  terrible  glow  of  a  confla- 
gration against  a  midnight  sky.  When  she  saw  her 
husband,  she  raised  her  head  and  smiled,  as  if  she  had 
awakened  from  a  dream. 

"  You  are  not  abed  yet }  what  a  miracle  !  "  she  said, 
taking  off  her  bashluik ;  and,  without  pausing,  she  went 
into  her  dressing-room,  crying,  "  It  is  late,  Aleksei 
Aleksandrovitch,"  as  she  got  to  the  door. 

"Anna,  I  must  have  a  talk  with  you." 

"With  me.''"  she  said,  in  astonishment,  coming  out 
into  the  hall,  and  looking  at  him.  "What  is  it  "i  What 
about  1 "  she  asked,  and  sat  down.     "  Well,  let  us  talk, 


then,  if  it  is  so  necessary ;  but  I  would  much  rather  go 
to  sleep." 

Anna  said  what  came  to  her  tongue,  and  was  aston- 
ished to  hear  herself,  astonished  at  her  own  facility  at 
telling  a  lie.  How  perfectly  natural  her  words  sounded, 
and  how  probable  that  she  wanted  to  go  to  sleep ;  she 
felt  herself  clad  in  an  impenetrable  armor  of  falsehood. 
She  felt  that  some  invisible  power  assisted  her  and  sus- 
tained her. 

"Anna,  I  must  give  you  a  warning." 

"  A  warning  ? "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  why .? " 

She  looked  at  him  so  innocently,  so'gayly,  that  any 
one  who  did  not  know  her  as  her  husband  did  would 
have  noticed  nothing  unnatural  either  in  the  tone  of  her 
voice  or  in  the  meaning  of  what  she  said.  But  for  him, 
who  knew  her,  who  knew  that  when  he  was  five  minutes 
later  than  usual  she  always  remarked  on  it,  and  asked 
the  reason,  for  him  who  knew  that  her  first  impulse  was 
always  to  tell  him  of  her  pleasures  and  her  sorrows,  for 
him  now  to  see  the  fact  that  Anna  took  special  pains 
not  to  observe  his  agitation,  that  she  took  special  pains 
not  to  say  a  word  about  herself,  all  this  was  very  sig- 
nificant. He  saw  that  the  depths  of  her  soul,  hitherto 
always  opened  to  his  gaze,  were  now  shut  away  from  him. 
Moreover,  by  her  tone  he  perceived  that  she  was  not 
confused  by  this ;  but  as  it  were  she  said  openly  and  with- 
out dissimulation,  "  Yes,  I  am  a  sealed  book,  and  so  it 
must  be,  and  will  be  from  henceforth." 

He  felt  as  a  man  would  who  should  come  home  and 
find  his  house  barricaded  against  him. 

"  Perhaps  the  key  will  yet  be  found,"  thought  Aleksel 

"  I  want  to  warn  you,"  said  he,  in  a  gentle  voice, 
"  lest  by  your  imprudence  and  your  thoughtlessness 
you  give  people  cause  to  talk  about  you.  Your  rather 
too  lively  conversation  this  evening  with  Count  Vronsky  " 
—  he  pronounced  this  name  slowly  and  distinctly  — 
"attracted  attention." 

He  finished  speaking,  and  looked  at  Anna's  laughing 
eyes,  now  terrible  to  him  because  they  were  so  impene- 


trable,  and  he  saw  all  the  idleness  and  uselessness  of 
his  words. 

"  You  are  always  like  this,"  she  said,  as  if  she  had 
not  understood  him,  and  intentionally  had  understood 
only  the  last  part  of  what  he  said.  "  Sometimes  you 
don't  like  it  because  I  am  bored,  and  sometimes  you 
don't  like  it  because  I  have  a  good  time.  I  was  not 
bored  this  evening;  does  that  disturb  you.-*" 

Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  trembled  ;  again  he  stretched 
his  fingers  till  the  knuckles  cracked. 

"Akh!  I  beg  of  you,  don't  crack  your  fingers,  I 
detest  it  so,"  said  she. 

"Anna,  is  this  you.''"  said  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch, 
trying  to  control  himself,  and  stopping  the  movement 
of  his  hands. 

"  Yes  !  but  what  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  sincere 
and  almost  comic  astonishment.  "  What  do  you  want 
of  me } " 

Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  was  silent,  and  passed  his 
hand  across  his  brow  and  over  his  eyes.  He  felt  that, 
instead  of  having  done  as  he  intended,  that  is,  instead 
of  having  warned  his  wife  of  her  errors  in  the  sight 
of  the  world,  he  was  agitated  at  what  concerned  her 
conscience,  and  was  perhaps  striking  some  imaginary 

"  This  is  what  I  wanted  to  say,"  he  continued, 
coldly  and  calmly,  "  and  I  beg  you  to  listen  to  me  until 
I  have  done.  As  you  know,  I  regard  jealousy  as  an 
insulting  and  degrading  sentiment,  and  I  never  allow 
myself  to  be  led  away  by  it ;  but  there  are  certain  laws 
of  propriety  which  one  cannot  cross  with  impunity. 
This  evening,  judging  by  the  impression  which  you 
made,  —  I  am  not  the  only  one  that  noticed  it,  all  did, 
—  you  did  not  conduct  yourself  at  all  in  a  proper 

"  Decidedly  I  do  not  understand  at  all,"  said  Anna, 
shrugging  her  shoulders.  "  He  does  not  really  care," 
she  thought;  "all  that  he  fears  is  the  opinion  of  the 
world."  —  "  You  are  not  well,  Aleksel  Aleksandrovitch," 
she  added,  rising,  and  starting  to  go  to  her  room. 


But  he  stepped  in  front  of  her  as  if  to  prevent  her  from 
going.  Never  had  Anna  seen  his  face  so  displeased 
and  ugly ;  she  remained  standing,  tipping  her  head  to 
one  side,  while  with  quick  fingers  she  began  to  pull  out 
the  hair-pins. 

"  Well !  I  will  hear  what  you  have  to  say,"  she  said, 
in  a  calm,  bantering  tone ;  "  I  shall  even  listen  with 
interest,  because  I  should  like  to  know  what  it  is  all 

She  herself  was  astonished  at  the  assurance  and  calm 
naturalness  with  which  she  spoke,  as  well  as  at  her 
choice  of  words. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  examine  your  feelings.  I  think 
it  is  useless  and  even  dangerous,"  AlekseY  Aleksandro- 
vitch  began.  "  If  we  probe  too  deeply  into  our  hearts, 
we  run  the  risk  of  touching  on  what  we  ought  not  to 
perceive.  Your  feelings  concern  your  conscience.  But 
in  presence  of  yourself,  of  me,  and  of  God,  I  am  in 
duty  bound  to  remind  you  of  your  obligations.  Our  lives 
are  united,  not  by  men,  but  by  God.  Only  by  crime 
can  this  bond  be  broken,  and  such  a  crime  brings  its 
own  punishment." 

"  I  don't  understand  at  all.  Oh,  heavens,  how  sleepy 
I  am  ! "  said  Anna,  swiftly  running  her  hand  over  her 
hair,  and  taking  out  the  last  pin. 

"  Anna !  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  don't  speak  so," 
said  he,  gently.  "  Maybe  I  am  mistaken  ;  but  believe 
me,  what  I  say  to  you  is  as  much  for  your  advantage  as 
for  mine ;  I  am  your  husband,  and  I  love  you." 

Anna's  face  for  an  instant  grew  troubled,  and  the 
mocking  fire  disappeared  from  her  eyes  ;  but  the  word 
"  love  "  irritated  her.  "  Love  !  "  she  thought ;  "  does  he 
know  what  it  means .-'  If  he  had  never  heard  that  there 
was  such  a  thing  as  love,  he  would  never  have  used  that 

*'  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch,  truly,  I  don't  know  what 
you  mean,"  she  said.     "They  say  you  find...." 

"  Allow  me  to  finish.  I  love  you,  but  I  am  not  speak- 
ing for  myself ;  those  who  are  chiefly  interested  are  our 
son  and  yourself.     It  is  quite  possible,  I  repeat,  that  my 



words  may  seem  idle  and  ill-judged ;  possibly  they  are 
the  result  of  mistake  on  my  part.  In  that  case,  I  beg 
you  to  forgive  me ;  but  if  you  yourself  feel  that  there 
is  the  least  foundation  for  my  remarks,  then  I  earnestly 
urge  you  to  reflect,  and,  if  your  heart  inclines  you,  to. 
confide  in  me.".... 

Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch,  without  noticing  the  fact, 
had  spoken  a  very  different  discourse  from  the  one  that 
he  had  prepared. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say."  And  she  added  in  a 
sprightly  tone,  scarcely  hiding  a  smile,  "  Truly,  it  is  time 
to  go  to  bed." 

Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  sighed,  and,  without  speak- 
ing further,  went  to  their  chamber. 

When  she  reached  the  room,  he  was  already  in  bed. 
His  lips  were  sternly  set,  and  he  did  not  look  at  her. 
Anna  got  into  bed,  every  moment  expecting  that  he 
would  speak  to  her  again  ;  she  both  feared  it  and  desired 
it,  but  he  said  nothing. 

She  waited  long  without  moving,  and  then  forgot  all 
about  him.  She  was  thinking  of  some  one  else  ;  she  saw 
him  and  was  conscious  of  her  heart  throbbing  with  emo- 
tion and  with  guilty  joy.  Suddenly  she  heard  a  slow 
and  regular  sound  of  snoring.  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch 
at  first  seemed  to  be  startled  himself,  and  stopped  ;  but 
at  the  end  of  a  second  the  snoring  began  again  with 
monotonous  regularity. 

"  Too  late  !  too  late ! "  she  whispered,  with  a  smile. 
She  lay  for  a  long  time  thus,  motionless,  with  open 
eyes,  the  shining  of  which  it  seemed  to  her  she  herself 
could  see  in  the  darkness. 


From  this  time  began  a  new  life  for  Alekse'f  Aleksan- 
drovitch and  his  wife.  Nothing  unusual  happened. 
Anna  continued  to  go  into  society,  and  was  especially 
often  at  the  Princess  Betsy's  ;  and  everywhere  she  met 
Vronsky.      Alekseif   Aleksandrovitch   saw   it,   but  was 


powerless  to  prevent  it.  Whenever  he  tried  to  bring 
about  an  explanation,  she  raised  up  against  him  an 
impenetrable  wall  of  humorous  perplexity. 

Outwardly,  everything  was  the  same,  but  their  rela- 
tions had  completely  changed.  Aleksei  Aleksandro- 
vitch,  a  remarkably  strong  man  in  matters  requiring 
statesmanship,  here  found  himself  powerless.  Like  an 
ox,  submissively  lowering  its  head,  he  waited  the  blow 
of  the  ax  which  he  felt  was  lifted  against  him.  When- 
ever he  began  to  think  about  it,  he  felt  that  once  more 
he  must  try  by  gentleness,  tenderness,  reason,  to  save 
Anna,  and  bring  her  back  to  him.  Every  day  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  speak  ;  but  as  soon  as  he  made  the 
attempt,  that  evil  spirit  of  falsehood  which  possessed 
her  seemed  to  lay  hold  of  him  also,  and  he  spoke  not  at 
all  in  the  tone  in  which  he  meant  to  speak.  Involun- 
tarily, what  he.  said  was  spoken  in  his  tone  of  raillery, 
which  seemed  to  cast  ridicule  on  those  who  would  speak 
as  he  did.  And  this  tone  was  not  at  all  suitable  for  the 
expression  of  the  thoughts  that  he  wished  to  express. 


What  had  been  for  nearly  a  whole  year  the  sole  de- 
sire of  Vronsky's  life,  changing  all  his  former  desires  — 
what  Anna  had  looked  upon  as  an  impossible,  a  terrible, 
and,  therefore,  the  more  a  fascinating,  dream  of  bliss,  was 
at  last  realized.  Pale,  with  quivering  lower  jaw,  he 
stood  over  her,  begging  her  to  be  calm,  himself  not 
knowing  how  or  why. 

"Anna!  Anna!"  he  said,  with  trembling  voice. 
"Anna!  for  God's  sake!".... 

But  the  more  intensely  he  spoke  the  lower  she  hung 
her  once  proud,  joyous,  but  now  humiliated  head,  and 
she  crouched  all  down,  and  dropped  from  the  divan, 
where  she  had  been  sitting,  to  the  floor  at  his  feet. 
She  would  have  fallen  on  the  carpet  had  he  not  held  her. 

"My  God!  forgive  me!"  she  sobbed,  pressing  his 
VOL.  I.  — 13 


hands  to  her  breast.  She  felt  that  she  was  such  a  sinnef 
and  criminal  that  nothing  remained  for  her  except  to 
crouch  down  and  beg  for  forgiveness  ;  now  there  was 
nothing  else  for  her  in  life  but  him,  so  that  to  him  alone 
she  turned  her  prayer  for  forgiveness.  As  she  looked 
at  him  she  felt  her  humiliation  physically,  and  she  could 
say  no  more. 

But  he  felt  exactly  as  a  murderer  must  feel  when  he 
sees  the  lifeless  body  of  his  victim.  This  lifeless  body 
was  their  love  —  the  first  epoch  of  their  love.  There 
was  something  horrible  and  repulsive  in  the  recollection 
of  the  terrible  price  that  they  had  paid  for  this  shame. 
The  shame  in  the  presence  of  their  spiritual  nakedness 
oppressed  her  and  took  hold  of  him.  But  in  spite  of  all 
the  horror  felt  by  the  murderer  in  presence  of  the  body 
of  his  victim,  he  must  cut  it  in  pieces,  must  bury  it,  must 
take  advantage  of  his  crime. 

And,  as  with  fury  and  passion  the  murderer  throws 
himself  on  the  dead  body  and  drags  it  and  cuts  it,  so  he 
covered  her  face  and  shoulders  with  kisses.  She  held 
his  hand  and  did  not  stir. 

"  Yes,  these  kisses  were  what  had  been  bought  with 
this  shame !  Yes,  and  this  hand,  which  will  always  be 
mine,  is  the  hand  of  my  accomplice." 

She  raised  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  He  fell  on  his 
knees,  and  tried  to  look  into  her  face ;  but  she  hid  it 
and  said  nothing.  At  last,  as  if  trying  to  control  her- 
self, she  made  an  effort  to  rise,  and  pushed  him  away. 
Her  face  was  still  as  beautiful  as  ever ;  even  so  much 
the  more  was  it  pitiful. 

"All  is  ended,"  said  she;  "I  have  nothing  but  thee, 
remember  that." 

"  I  cannot  help  remembering  it,  since  it  is  my  life.  A 
moment  before  this  happiness  ....  " 

"What  happiness.?"  she  cried,  with  contempt  and 
horror.  And  horror  involuntarily  seized  him  also, 
"  For  God's  sake,  not  a  word,  not  a  word  more." 

She  quickly  got  up  and  moved  away  from  him,  and 
with  a  strange  expression  of  hopeless  despair,  such  as  he 
had  never  seen  before,  on  her  face,  she  stood  aloof  from 


him.  She  felt  that  at  that  moment  she  could  not  ex- 
press in  words  the  sense  of  shame,  rapture,  and  horror 
at  this  entrance  into  a  new  life,  and  she  did  not  wish  to 
speak  about  it  or  vulgarize  the  feeling  with  definite  words. 

But  even  afterward,  on  the  next  day,  on  the  third 
day,  not  only  did  she  fail  to  find  words  in  which  to 
express  the  complication  of  these  feelings,  but  she 
could  not  even  find  thoughts  by  which  to  formulate  to 
herself  all  that  was  in  her  soul. 

She  said  to  herself:  — 

"  No,  I  cannot  now  think  about  this  ;  by  and  by,  when 
I  am  calmer." 

But  this  calmness  never  came.  Every  time  when  the 
questions  arose:  "What  had  she  done.?  and  what  would 
become  of  her.?  and  what  ought  she  to  do.?"  she  was 
filled  with  horror,  and  she  compelled  herself  not  to  think 
about  them. 

"By  and  by,  by  and  by,"  she  repeated,  "when  I  am 

On  the  other  hand,  during  sleep,  when  she  had  no 
control  of  her  thoughts,  her  situation  appeared  in  its 
ugly  nakedness.  One  dream  almost  every  night  haunted 
her.  She  dreamed  that  she  was  the  wife  both  of  Vron- 
sky  and  of  Alekseif  Aleksandrovitch,  and  that  both  lav- 
ished their  caresses  on  her,  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch 
kissed  her  hands,  and  said,  weeping,  "  How  happy  we  are 
now  ! "  Aleksei"  Vronsky,  also,  was  there,  and  he  was 
her  husband.  She  was  amazed  that  she  had  ever  be- 
lieved such  a  thing  impossible ;  and  she  laughed  as  she 
explained  to  them  that  this  was  far  simpler,  that  both 
would  henceforth  be  satisfied  and  happy.  But  this 
dream  weighed  on  her  like  a  nightmare,  and  she  always 
awoke  in  fright. 


Even  in  the  first  weeks  after  Levin  returned  from 
Moscow,  every  time  that  with  flushed  cheeks  and  a 
trembling  in  his  limbs  he  remembered  the  shame  of  hi^ 
rejection,  he  would  say  to  himself:  — 


"I  blushed  and  trembled  like  this,  and  I  felt  that  all 
was  lost,  when  I  got  one  in  physics,  and  had  to  go  into 
the  second  class  ;  and  I  thought  myself  irretrievably 
ruined  when  I  bungled  in  my  sister's  affairs,  which  were 
confided  to  me.  And  now  ?  Now  the  years  have  gone 
by,  and  I  look  back  and  wonder  how  it  could  disturb 
my  mind.  It  will  be  just  the  same  with  my  disap- 
pointment this  time.  Time  will  pass,  and  I  shall  grow 

But  three  months  passed  away  and  the  callousness 
did  not  come,  and  it  was  as  painful  for  him  to  remember 
it  as  on  the  first  day.  He  could  not  reconcile  himself 
to  the  fact  that,  after  dreaming  so  long  of  family  life, 
after  being,  as  he  thought,  so  well  prepared  for  it,  not 
only  was  he  not  married,  but  found  himself  farther  than 
ever  from  marriage.  He  felt  painfully,  as  all  those 
around  him  felt,  that  it  is  not  good  for  a  man  of  his  age 
to  live  alone.  He  remembered  that  before  his  departure 
for  Moscow  he  had  once  said  to  his  cowherd,  Nikolai,  a 
simple-hearted  muzhik  with  whom  he  liked  to  talk :  — 

"  Do  you  know,  Nikolai,  I  am  thinking  of  getting 
married  ? "  whereupon  Nikolai  had  instantly  replied,  as 
if  there  could  not  be  the  slightest  doubt  about  it :  — 

"This  ought  to  have  been  long  ago,  Konstantin 

And  now  marriage  was  farther  off  than  ever.  The 
place  was  taken ;  and  when,  exercising  his  imagination, 
he  put  into  that  place  some  young  girl  of  his  acquain- 
tance, he  felt  that  it  was  perfectly  impossible.  Moreover, 
the  recollection  of  how  Kitty  refused  him  and  of  the 
part  which  he  played  still  tormented  him  with  morti- 
fication. It  was  idle  to  say  that  he  was  not  to  blame  in 
this  ;  this  recollection,  taken  together  with  other  mortify- 
ing experiences  of  the  same  sort,  made  him  quiver  and 
grow  red  in  the  face.  He  had  on  his  conscience,  as 
every  man  has,  the  remembrance  of  evil  deeds  for  which 
he  should  have  repented  ;  but  the  remembrance  of  these 
evil  deeds  did  not  trouble  him  nearly  so  much  as  the 
feeling  of  his  humiliation,  slight  as  it  really  was.  It  was 
a  wound  that  refused  to  heal.     He  could  not  keep  out 


of  his  mind  his  rejection,  and  the  miserable  position  in 
which  he  must  have  been  placed  in  the  eyes  of  others. 

Time  and  labor,  however,  brought  their  balm ;  the 
painful  impressions  little  by  little  began  to  fade  in  pres- 
ence of  the  events  of  the  country  life,  important  in 
reality,  in  spite  of  their  apparent  insignificance.  Each 
week  his  thoughts  turned  to  Kitty  v/ith  less  frequency. 
He  even  began  to  await  with  impatience  the  news  that 
she  was  married,  or  was  going  to  be  married,  hoping  that 
this  event  would  bring  healing  in  the  same  way  as  the 
pulling  of  a  tooth  may. 

Meantime  spring  came,  beautiful,  friendly,  without 
treachery  or  false  promises, — a  spring  such  as  fills 
plants  and  animals,  no  less  than  men,  with  joy.  This 
splendid  season  gave  Levin  new  zeal,  and  confirmed  his 
resolution  to  tear  himself  from  the  past  so  as  to  reorgan- 
ize his  solitary  life  on  conditions  of  permanence  and 
independence.  Although  many  of  the  plans  that  he 
had  formed  on  his  return  to  the  country  had  not  been 
put  into  effect,  yet  the  most  essential  one  —  that  his  life 
should  be  kept  pure -7- had  been  realized.  He  expe- 
rienced none  of  that  sense  of  shame  which  ordinarily 
tormented  him  after  a  fall ;  and  he  could  look  fearlessly 
into  men's  eyes. 

In  February  he  had  received  a  letter  from  Marya 
Nikolayevna,  who  informed  him  that  his  brother's  health 
was  failing,  and  that  he  would  not  use  any  rcmedi'js. 
In  consequence  of  this  letter  he  had  immediately  gone 
to*  Moscow,  where  he  persuaded  Nikolai  to  consult  a 
physician,  and  then  to  go  abroad  for  the  baths.  He 
succeeded  so  well  in  persuading  his  brother  and  in  lend- 
ing him  money  for  the  journey,  without  exasperating 
him,  that  he  felt  quite  satisfied  with  himself. 

Besides  his  farm-labors,  which  especially  occupied  his 
attention  that  spring,  and  his  ordinary  reading,  Levin 
was  deeply  engaged  in  writing  a  work  on  rural  economy, 
which  he  had  begun  during  the  winter.  His  theory  was 
that  in  farming  the  laborer's  temperament  is  a  factor  as 
important  as  climate  or  the  soil,  and  that  consequently 
ail  the  deductions  of  agronomic  science  are  drawn,  not 


from  the  premises  of  soil  and  climate  alone,  but  from 
the  soil,  the  climate,  and  the  certain  unchangeable 
character  of  the  laborer. 

Thus,  notwithstanding  his  loneliness  or  in  conse- 
quence of  his  loneliness,  his  life,  therefore,  was  very  busy 
and  full ;  only  occasionally  he  felt  the  need  of  some  one 
besides  Agafya  Mikhallovna  with  whom  to  communi- 
cate the  ideas  that  came  into  his  head.  However,  he 
brought  himself  to  discuss  with  her  about  physics,  the 
theories  of  rural  economy,  and,  above  all,  philosophy. 
Philosophy  was  Agafya  Mikhailovna's  favorite  subject. 

The  spring  opened  late.  During  the  last  weeks  of 
Lent  the  weather  was  clear  but  cold.  During  the  day 
the  snow  melted  in  the  sun,  but  at  night  the  mercury 
w^ent  down  to  seven  degrees ;  the  crust  on  the  snow  was 
so  thick  that  carts  could  go  anywhere  across  the  fields. 

It  snowed  on  Easter  Sunday.  Then  suddenly,  on  the 
following  day,  a  warm  wind  blew,  the  clouds  drifted 
over,  and  for  three  days  and  three  nights  a  warm  and 
heavy  rain  fell  ceaselessly.  On  Thursday  the  wind  went 
down,  and  then  over  the  earth  was  spread  a  thick  gray 
fog,  as  if  to  conceal  the  mysteries  that  were  accomplish- 
ing in  nature ;  under  this  fog,  the  fields  were  covered 
with  water,  the  ice  was  melting  and  disappearing,  the 
brooks  ran  more  swiftly,  foaming  and  muddy.  Toward 
evening  the  Krasnaya  Gorka,  or  Red  Hill,  began  to  show 
through  the  fog,  the  clouds  scattered  like  snipe,  and 
spring  in  reality  was  there  in  all  her  brilliancy. 

The  next  morning  the  sun  rose  bright  and  quickly 
melted  away  the  thin  sheet  of  ice  that  still  covered 
the  ponds,  and  the  warm  atmosphere  grew  moist  with 
the  vapors  rising  from  the  earth  ;  the  old  grass  and  the 
young  blades  peeping  from  the  sod,  with  its  tiny  needles, 
the  buds  on  the  snow-ball  trees,  the  currant  bushes,  and 
the  sticky  sappy  birch  trees,  grew  green,  swelled,  and 
on  their  branches,  powdered  with  golden  bloom,  swarms 
of  honey-bees  buzzed  in  the  sun.  Invisible  larks  trilled 
their  songs  over  the  velvet  of  the  green  and  the  prairies 
freed  from  snow ;  the  lapwings  lamented  for  their  hoi- 
lows  and   marshes,  submerged   by  the  stormy  waters; 


the  wild  swans  and  geese  flew  high  in  the  air,  with  their 
calls  of  spring.  The  cattle,  with  rough  hair  and  spots 
worn  bare,  lowed  as  they  went  out  to  pasture  ;  the 
bandy-legged  lambs  gamboled  around  the  bleating  ewes^ 
soon  to  lose  their  wool  ;  swift-footed  children  ran  bare- 
foot over  the  wet  paths,  where  their  footprints  were  left 
like  fossils  ;  the  peasant-women  gossiped  gayly  around 
the  edge  of  the  pond,  where  they  were  bleaching  their 
linen  ;  and  in  the  yards  resounded  the  axes  of  the  mu- 
zhiks, repairing  their  plows  and  their  wagons. 
Spring  had  really  come. 


Levin  put  on  his  heavy  boots,  and,  for  the  first  time, 
his  sleeveless  cloth  coat  instead  of  his  fur  shuba,  and 
went  out  to  look  over  his  estate,  tramping  through  the 
brooklets  which  dazzled  his  eyes  as  they  glanced  in  the  sun, 
and  stepping,  now  on  a  cake  of  ice,  and  now  in  sticky  mud. 

Spring  is  the  epoch  of  plans  and  projects.  Levin,  as 
he  went  out  into  his  court,  no  more  definitely  knew  what 
he  would  first  take  in  hand  in  his  beloved  farming  than 
the  tree  in  early  spring  knows  how  and  why  his  young 
sprouts  and  branches  grow  out  from  their  enveloping 
buds  ;  but  he  felt  that  he  was  going  to  originate  the 
most  charming  projects  and  the  most  sensible  plans. 

He  went  first  to  see  his  cattle.  The  cows  had  been 
let  out  into  the  yard,  and  with  their  smooth  new  coats 
of  hair  glistening  as  they  warmed  themselves  in  the 
sun,  they  were  lowing  as  if  to  beg  permission  to  go  out 
to  pasture.  Levin  knew  them  all,  even  to  the  minutest 
particulars.  He  contemplated  them  with  satisfaction, 
and  gave  orders  to  take  them  to  pasture,  and  to  let  the 
calves  out  into  the  yard.  The  cow-boy  gayly  started  to 
drive  them  out  into  the  field.  The  milkmaids,  gather- 
ing up  their  petticoats,  and  splashing  through  the  mud 
with  bare  feet,  white  as  yet,  and  free  from  tan,  chased 
the  bellowing  calves,  silly  with  the  rapture  of  spring,  and 
with  switches  kept  them  from  escaping  froni  the  yard. 


Admiring  the  young  cattle  which  the  year  had 
brought,  for  they  were  uncommonly  beautiful, — the 
oldest  already  as  large  as  a  peasants'  cow,  and  Pava's 
daughter,  three  months  old,  as  big  as  a  yearling,  — ■ 
Levin  ordered  the  trough  to  be  brought  out  for  them, 
and  their  hay  to  be  given  them  behind  gratings.^  He 
found,  however,  that  these  gratings,  which  had  been 
made  in  the  autumn,  but  were  not  used  during  the 
winter,  were  out  of  repair.  He  sent  for  the  carpenter, 
who  was  supposed  to  be  busy  repairing  the  threshing- 
machine  ;  but  it  seemed  that  the  carpenter  was  not 
there.  He  was  repairing  the  harrows,  which  should 
have  been  repaired  during  Lent.  This  made  Levin 
very  indignant.  He  was  indignant  at  this  everlasting 
repetition  of  such  slovenliness,  against  which  he  had  so 
many  years  struggled  with  all  his  might.  The  gratings, 
as  he  soon  learned,  not  having  been  in  use  during  the 
winter,  had  been  carried  to  the  stable,  where,  as  they 
were  of  light  construction,  and  meant  only  for  calves, 
they  had  been  broken. 

Moreover,  it  appeared  that  nothing  had  been  done  to 
the  harrows  and  other  agricultural  implements,  which 
should  have  been  inspected  and  put  in  order  during  the 
winter  months,  and  for  this  purpose  especially  he  had 
hired  three  carpenters.  The  harrows  were  needed  im- 
mediately for  work  in  the  fields.  Levin  summoned  the 
overseer,^  then  he  himself  went  in  search  of  him. 
The  overseer,  as  radiant  as  everything  else  was  that 
day,  came  from  the  threshing-floor  dressed  in  a  lined 
lambskin  coat.^  He  was  twisting  a  straw  between  his 

"  Why  is  n't  the  carpenter  at  work  on  the  threshing- 
machine  .?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  that  is  what  I  meant  to  tell  you  last  even- 
ing :  the  harrows  had  to  be  repaired !  We  've  got  to 

"  Yes  ;  but  what  have  you  been  doing  this  winter  ? " 

"Yes;  but  why  do  you  hire  such  a  carpenter  ?" 

1  Reshotki,  a  sort  of  portable  palisade. 

2  Prikashchik.  ^  Tulupchik. 


**  Where  are  the  gratings  for  the  calves  ? " 

"  I  ordered  them  to  be  put  in  place.  You  can't  do 
anything  with  such  people,"  replied  the  overseer,  wav- 
ing his  hands. 

"  Not  such  people,  but  such  an  overseer !  "  said  Levin, 
getting  still  more  angry.  *'  Well,  what  do  I  keep  you 
for  ?  "  he  shouted  ;  but,  recollecting  that  shouts  did  not 
do  any  good,  he  stopped  in  the  middle  of  his  remark 
and  only  sighed.  "  Well,  can  you  get  the  seed  in  yet  .-* " 
he  asked,  after  a  silence. 

"  Back  of  Turkino  we  might  to-morrow,  or  the  day 

"  And  the  clover  ? " 

"  I  sent  Vasili  and  Mishka  to  sow  it,  but  I  don't  know 
whether  they  succeeded  ;  it 's  muddy." 

"  On  how  many  acres  .'' " 

"  Sixteen  acres."  ^ 

"  Why  not  the  whole  ? "  cried  Levin. 

He  was  still  more  indignant  because  they  had  sowed 
only  sixteen  acres  instead  of  fifty-four:  he  knew  by  his 
own  experience,  as  well  as  by  theory,  the  need  of  sowing 
the  clover-seed  as  early  as  possible,  almost  in  the  snow, 
and  Levin  never  could  get  this  done. 

"Not  enough  people.  What  can  you  do  with  these 
men .-'  The  three  hired  men  did  not  come ;  and  then 
Semyon ....  " 

"Well,  you  would  better  have  taken  them  away  from 
the  straw." 

"  Yes  ;  I  did  that  very  thing." 

"  Where  are  all  the  people  ?" 

"  There  are  five  at  the  compote  [he  meant  to  say  com- 
post]  ;  four  are  moving  the  oats,  so  that  they  should  not 
spoil,  Konstantin  Dmitritch." 

Levin  knew  very  well  that  these  words,  "  So  that  they 
should  not  spoil,''  meant  that  his  English  oats  saved  for 
seed  were  already  ruined.  Again  they  had  not  done 
what  he  had  ordered. 

"  Yes  !  But  did  I  not  tell  you  during  Lent  to  put  in 
the  ventilating-chimneys  .''  "  he  cried. 

^  Six  desyatins ;   a  desyatina  is  2.7  acres. 


"  Don't  you  be  troubled ;  we  will  do  all  in  good 

Levin  angrily  waved  his  hand,  and  went  to  examine 
his  oats  in  the  granary;  then  he  went  to  the  stables. 
The  grain  was  not  yet  spoiled,  but  the  workmen  were 
stirring  it  up  with  shovels  when  they  might  have  let  it 
down  from  one  story  to  the  other.  After  he  had 
straightened  this  matter  and  sent  two  hands  to  sow 
the  clover,  Levin  calmed  down  in  regard  to  his  over- 
seer. It  was  such  a  lovely  day  that  one  could  not  keep 

"  Ignat,"  he  cried  to  his  coachman,  who,  with  upturned 
sleeves,  was  washing  the  carriage  near  the  pump,  "  sad- 
dle me  a  horse," 

"Which  one.?" 

"  Well,  Kolpik." 

"  I  will  do  so." 

While  he  was  saddling  the  horse,  Levin  again  called 
the  overseer,  who  was  busying  himself  in  his  vicinity, 
hoping  to  be  restored  to  favor,  and  began  to  speak  with 
him  about  the  work  that  he  wanted  done  during  the 
spring,  and  about  his  plans  for  carrying  on  the  estate. 

He  wanted  the  compost  spread  as  soon  as  possible, 
so  as  to  have  this  work  done  before  the  first  mowing ; 
then  he  wanted  the  farthest  field  plowed,  so  that  it 
might  be  left  fallow.  All  the  fields  —  not  half  of  them 
—  should  be  attended  to  with  the  laborers. 

The  overseer  listened  attentively,  doing  his  best  evi- 
dently to  approve  of  his  master's  plans.  But  never- 
theless his  face  wore  that  vexatiously  hopeless  and 
melancholy  expression  which  Levin  knew  so  well. 
This  expression  seemed  to  say,  "This  is  all  very  well 
and  good,  but  as  God  shall  give." 

Nothing  exasperated  Levin  so  much  as  this  tone,  but 
it  was  common  to  all  the  overseers  that  had  ever  been 
in  his  service.  They  all  received  his  projects  with  the 
same  dejected  air ;  and  so  he  now  refrained  from  getting 
angry,  but  he  was  exasperated  and  felt  himself  still  more 
stimulated  for  the  struggle  against  this,  as  it  were  ele- 
mental, force  which  he  could  not  help  calling  "  As  God 


shall  give,''  and  which  constantly  opposed  him  every- 

"  If  we  have  time,  Konstantin  Dmitritch,"  said  the 

"  Why  shall  we  not  have  time  t " 

"  We  absolutely  ought  to  hire  fifteen  more  workmen, 
but  they  can't  be  had.  Some  came  to-day  who  asked 
seventy  rubles  for  the  summer." 

Levin  did  not  speak.  Again  the  opposing  force ! 
He  knew  that,  however  he  might  exert  himself,  he  never 
could  hire  more  than  forty,  thirty-seven,  or  thirty-eight, 
laborers  at  a  reasonable  price ;  he  had  succeeded  in  get- 
ting forty,  never  more ;  but  nevertheless  he  could  not 
give  up  vanquished. 

"  Send  to  Suri,  to  Chefirovka ;  if  they  don't  come,  we 
must  go  for  them." 

"  I  'm  going  to  go,"  said  Vasili  Feodorovitch,  gloomily. 
"But  then  the  horses  are  very  feeble." 

"Buy  some  more;  but  then  I  know,"  he  added,  with 
a  laugh,  "that  you  will  do  as  little  and  as  badly  as  you 
can.  However,  I  warn  you  that  I  will  not  let  you  do  as 
you  please  this  year.  I  shall  take  the  reins  in  my  own 

"  Yes  !  but  even  as  it  is  you  get  too  little  sleep,  it 
seems  to  me.  We  are  very  happy  to  be  under  our  mas- 
ter's eyes....  " 

"  Now,  have  the  clover  put  in  on  the  Berezof  Bottom, 
and  I  shall  come  myself  to  inspect  it,"  said  he, 
mounting  his  little  horse,"  Kolpik,  which  the  coachman 
brought  up. 

"  Don't  go  across  the  brooks,  Konstantin  Dmitritch," 
cried  the  coachman. 

"  Well,  then,  by  the  woods." 

And  on  his  little,  lively,  easy-going  ambler,  which 
whinnied  as  it  came  to  the  pools,  and  which  pulled  on 
the  bridle,  having  been  too  long  in  the  stable.  Levin  rode 
out  of  the  muddy  courtyard,  and  across  the  open  fields. 

Happy  as  Levin  had  felt  in  his  cow-yard  and  cattle- 
pen,  he  felt  still  happier  out  in  the  field.  Rhythmically 
swaying  on  his  easy-going,  gentle  pony,  drinking  in  the 


warm  air,  freshened  by  the  snow  as  he  rode  through  the 
forest  where  the  snow  still  lay  here  and  there  rapidly 
melting  in  the  tracks,  he  took  keen  delight  in  every 
one  of  his  trees,  with  greening  moss  and  swelling  buds. 
As  he  came  out  from  the  forest,  before  him  lay  a  vast 
stretch  of  fields ;  they  seemed  like  an  immense  carpet  of 
velvet  where  there  was  not  a  bare  spot  or  a  marsh,  only 
here  and  there  in  the  hollows  marked  with  patches  of 
melting  snow.  The  sight  of  a  peasant's  mare  and  colt 
treading  down  his  fields  did  not  anger  him,  but  he 
ordered  a  passing  muzhik  to  drive  them  out.  With  the 
same  gentleness  he  received  the  sarcastic  and  impudent 
answer  of  the  muzhik  Ipat,  whom  he  met  and  asked, 
"  Ipat,  shall  we  put  in  the  seed  before  very  long  ? " 
And  Ipat  replied,  "  We  must  plow  first,  Konstantin 

The  farther  he  went,  the  more  his  good-humor  in- 
creased, and  each  of  his  plans  for  improving  his  estate 
seemed  to  surpass  the  other :  to  protect  the  fields  on 
the  south  by  lines  of  trees  so  as  to  prevent  the  snow 
from  staying  too  long ;  to  divide  his  arable  fields  into 
nine  parts,  six  of  which  should  be  well  dressed,  and  the 
other  three  sown  down  to  grass ;  to  build  a  cow-yard  in 
the  farthest  corner  of  one  field,  and  have  a  pond  dug ; 
to  have  portable  inclosures  for  the  cattle,  so  as  to  util- 
ize the  manure;  and  thus  to  cultivate  three  hundred 
desyatins  of  wheat,  a  hundred  desyatins  of  potatoes,  and 
one  hundred  and  fifty  of  clover,  without  exhausting  the 

Full  of  these  reflections,  he  picked  his  way  carefully 
along  so  as  not  to  tread  down  his  fields,  till  at  last  he 
reached  the  place  where  the  laborers  were  sowing  the 
clover.  The  cart,  loaded  with  seed,  instead  of  being  left 
on  the  edge  of  the  field,  had  been  driven  into  the 
plowed  land,  and  his  winter  wheat  was  crushed  by 
the  wheels  and  trampled  down  by  the  horse.  The  two 
laborers  were  sitting  by  the  edge  of  the  field,  evidently 
smoking  a  mutual  pipe.  The  earth  in  the  cart,  mixed 
together  with  the  seed,  had  not  been  worked  over,  but 
was  full  of  har4  or  frozen  lumps. 


When  he  saw  the  master,  the  laborer  Vasili  started 
toward  the  cart,  and  Mishka  began  to  sow.  This  was 
all  wrong,  but  Levin  rarely  got  angry  with  his  laborers. 
When  Vasili  came  up  to  him,  Levin  ordered  him  to  lead 
the  horse  to  the  side  of  the  field. 

"  It  won't  do  any  harm,  sir ;  it  will  spring  up 

"  Please  not  discuss  it,"  replied  Levin,  "  but  do  what 
I  say." 

"  I  will  obey,"  said  Vasili,  taking  the  horse  by  the 
head.  "What  splendid  seed,  Konstantin  Dmitritch," 
he  added,  to  regain  favor.  "  Best  kind !  But  it  is 
frightful  going  !     You  drag  2i  pud  on  each,  foot." 

"  But  why  was  n't  the  earth  sifted  ?  "  asked  Levin. 

"  Oh !  it  '11  come  out  all  right,"  replied  Vasili,  taking 
up  some  seed,  and  crushing  the  lump  in  his  palm. 

It  was  not  Vasili's  fault  that  they  were  scattering  the 
unsifted  soil ;  but  it  was  vexatious,  nevertheless.  Hav- 
ing more  than  once  to  his  advantage  made  use  of  a 
well-known  means  of  wreaking  his  vexation,  which 
always  seemed  to  him  foolish.  Levin  now  determined  to 
try  it  and  see  if  he  could  recover  his  good  temper.  He 
noticed  how  Mishka  strode  along  dragging  huge  clods 
of  clay  which  stuck  to  each  of  his  feet ;  so,  dismounting, 
he  took  the  seed-cod  from  Vasili  and  began  to  scatter 
the  seed. 

"  Where  did  you  stop  ?  " 

Vasili  touched  the  spot  with  his  foot,  and  Levin  went 
on  as  best  he  could,  scattering  the  earth  with  the  seed. 
But  it  was  as  hard  as  wading  through  a  marsh,  and  after 
he  had  gone  a  row  he  stopped  all  in  a  sweat,  and  returned 
the  seed-cod. 

"Well,  barin,  if  that  row  doesn't  come  out  well  next 
summer,  don't  blame  me  for  it !  "  said  Vasili. 

"Indeed  I  won't,"  replied  Levin,  gayly,  already  feel- 
ing the  efficacy  of  the  means  he  had  employed. 

"  But  just  look  at  the  summer  we  're  gomg  to  have ! 
'T  will  be  magnificent !  If  you  '11  notice,  that 's  where  I 
sowed  last  spring.  How  well  I  planted  it  I  Why,  Kon- 
stantin Dmitritch,  I  work  as  if  I  were  working  for  my 


own  father !  Well,  I  don't  like  to  do  slack  work.  What 
is  good  for  the  master  is  good  for  us.  And  look  yon- 
der at  that  field,"  continued  Vasili,  pointing  to  the  field, 
"it  delights  my  heart." 

"It  is  a  fine  spring,  Vasili." 

"  Yes !  it  is  such  a  spring  as  our  old  men  can't  re- 
member. I  was  at  home,  and  our  elder  has  already 
sowed  an  acre  ^  of  wheat ;  as  he  says  he  can  hardly  tell 
it  from  rye." 

"  But  how  long  have  you  been  sowing  wheat  ? " 

"Why,  you  yourself  taught  us  how  to  sow  it  year  be- 
fore last.  You  spared  me  two  measures.  It  gave  eight 
bushels  and  w.e  sowed  an  acre  with  it." 

"  Well !  look  here,  see  that  you  break  up  the  earth 
well!"  said  Levin,  as  he  started  for  his  ambler,  "look 
after  Mishka ;  and  if  the  seed  comes  up  well,  you  shall 
have  fifty  kopeks  a  desyatin." 

"  We  thank  you  humbly :  we  should  be  content  even 
without  that." 

Levin  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  off  to  visit  his 
last  year's  clover-field,  and  then  to  the  field  which  was 
already  plowed  ready  for  the  summer  wheat. 

The  crop  of  clover  in  the  stubble-field  was  miraculous. 
It  had  all  survived,  and  was  covering  with  a  mantle  of 
green  all  the  ground  where  the  preceding  fall  the  roots 
of  the  wheat  had  been  left. 

The  horse  sank  up  to  the  fetlock,  and  each  foot  made 
a  sucking  noise  as  he  pulled  it  out  of  the  half-thawed 
soil.  It  was  entirely  impossible  to  cross  the  plowed 
land.  Only  where  there  was  ice  would  it  hold,  but  in 
the  thawed  furrows  the  horse's  leg  sank  above  the  fet- 
lock. The  plowed  field  was  excellent.  In  two  days 
the  harrowing  and  sowing  could  be  done.  Everything 
was  beautiful,  everything  was  gay ! 

Levin  rode  back  by  way  of  the  brooks,  hoping  to  find 
the  water  lower;   in  fact,  he  found  that  he  could  get 

*  Tri  ostninnika  ;  in  the  government  of  Tula  an  osminnik  iS  an  eighth  of 
a  desyatin.  One  chetvert  (about  eight  bushels)  plants  three  of  these  eighths, 
or  an  acre.  Levin  promises  an  equivalent  of  about  forty  cents  for  2.7 


across  ;  and,  as  he  waded  through,  he  scared  up  a  couple 
of  wild  ducks. 

"There  ought  to  be  snipe,  also,"  he  thought;  and  a 
forest  guard  whom  he  met  on  his  way  to  the  house 
confirmed  his  supposition. 

He  immediately  spurred  up  his  horse,  so  as  to  get 
back  in  time  for  dinner,  and  to  prepare  his  gun  for 
the  evening. 


Just  as  Levin  reached  home,  in  the  best  humor  in 
the  world,  he  heard  the  jingling  of  bells  at  the  side 

"There,  now!  some  one  from  the  railroad  station," 
was  his  first  thought ;  "it 's  time  for  the  Moscow  train. 
—  Who  can  have  come.-'  brother  Nikolai'.''  Did  he  not 
say  that  instead  of  going  abroad  he  might  perhaps 
come  to  see  me  ?  " 

For  a  moment  it  occurred  to  him  disagreeably  that 
his  brother  Nikolai's  presence  might  spoil  his  pleasant 
plans  for  the  spring ;  but,  disgusted  at  the  selfishness 
of  this  thought,  his  mind,  so  to  speak,  instantly  received 
his  brother  with  open  arms,  and  he  began  to  hope,  with 
affectionate  joy,  that  it  was  really  he. 

He  hurried  his  horse,  and  as  he  came  out  from  behind 
the  acacia,  he  saw  a  hired  troika  from  the  railway  station 
and  a  traveler  dressed  in  a  shuba. 

It  was  not  his  brother. 

"  Akh  !  if  only  it  is  some  agreeable  man  to  talk  with," 
he  thought. 

"  Ah ! "  he  cried,  lifting  up  both  arms  as  he  recog- 
nized Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  "  here  is  the  most  delecta- 
ble of  guests  !  Akh !  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you !  — 
I  shall  certainly  learn  from  him  if  she  is  married  or 
when  she's  going  to  be,"  he  added  to  himself. 

This  splendid  spring  morning  he  felt  that  the  memory 
of  Kitty  was  not  at  all  painful. 

"  You  scarcely  expected  me,  I  suppose,"  said  Stepan 


Arkadyevitch,  leaping  out  of  the  sledge,  with  spots  ot 
mud  on  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  on  his  cheeks,  and  on 
his  forehead,  but  radiant  with  health  and  pleasure.  "  I 
am  come,  first,  to  see  you,"  he  cried,  throwing  his  arms 
around  Levin  and  kissing  him  ;  "  secondly,  to  shoot  a  few 
birds  ;  and  thirdly,  to  sell  the  forest  at  Yergushovo." 

"  Perfect,  is  n't  it  ?  What  do  you  think  of  this  spring? 
But  how  could  you  have  got  here  in  a  sledge  ? " 

"  Traveling  is  far  worse  with  a  telyega,  Konstantin 
Dmitritch,"  replied  the  postilion,  who  was  an  acquain- 

"  Well !  Indeed,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  again," 
said  Levin,  with  a  genuine  smile  of  boyish  joy. 

He  conducted  his  guest  to  the  room  kept  in  readi- 
ness for  visitors,  and  had  Stepan  Arkadyevitch's  things 
brought  up, — a  gripsack,  a  gun  in  its  case,  and  a  box 
of  cigars,  and  then,  leaving  him  to  wash  and  dress  him- 
self, he  went  down  to  his  office  to  speak  about  the  clover 
and  the  plowing. 

Agafya  Mikhaiiovna,  who  had  very  much  at  heart  the 
honor  of  the  mansion,  met  him  in  the  vestibule  with 
questions  about  dinner, 

"Do  just  as  you  please,"  replied  Levin,  as  he  went 
out ;  "only  make  haste  about  it,"  said  he,  and  went  to 
the  overseer. 

When  he  returned,  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  who  had 
washed,  and  combed  his  hair,  was  just  coming  out  of 
his  room  with  a  radiant  smile,  and  together  they  went 

"  Well,  I  am  very  happy  to  have  got  out  to  your 
house  at  last.  I  shall  now  learn  the  mystery  of  your 
existence  here.  Truly,  I  envy  you.  What  a  house ! 
How  convenient  everything  is  !  how  bright  and  delight- 
ful!  "  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  forgetting  that  bright 
days  and  the  springtime  were  not  always  there.  "And 
your  old  nurse,  — what  a  charming  old  soul !  All  that 's 
lacking  is  a  pretty  little  chambermaid  with  an  apron  on, 
—  but  that  does  not  suit  your  severe  and  monastic  style  ; 
but  this  is  very  good." 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  had  much  interesting  news  to 


tell :  especially  interesting  to  Levin  was  the  tidings  that 
his  brother  Sergye'i  Ivanovitch  expected  to  come  into 
the  country  this  summer ;  but  not  one  word  did  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch  say  about  Kitty  or  any  of  the  Shcherbat- 
skys,  he  simply  transmitted  his  wife's  greeting.  Levin 
was  grateful  to  him  for  this  delicacy.  As  usual,  he 
had  stored  up  during  his  hours  of  solitude  a  throng  of 
ideas  and  impressions  which  he  could  not  share  with 
any  of  his  domestics,  and  now  he  poured  into  Oblon- 
sky's  ears  his  poetical  spring  joys,  his  failures  and  plans 
and  farming  projects,  his  thoughts  and  his  observations 
on  the  books  which  he  had  read,  and  above  all  the  idea 
of  his  treatise,  the  scheme  of  which  consisted  —  though 
he  himself  had  not  noticed  it  —  of  a  critique  on  all  for- 
mer works  on  farming. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  amiable,  and  always  ready  to 
grasp  a  point,  showed  unusual  cordiality ;  and  Levin 
even  thought  that  he  noticed  a  certain  flattering  con- 
sideration and  an  undertone  of  tenderness  in  his  treat- 
ment of  him. 

The  efforts  of  Agafya  Mikhailovna  and  the  cook  to 
get  up  an  especially  good  dinner  resulted  in  the  two 
friends,  who  were  half  starved,  betaking  themselves  to 
the  zakuska,  or  lunch-table,  and  devouring  bread  and 
butter,  cold  chicken  and  salted  mushrooms,  and  finally 
in  Levin  calling  for  the  soup  without  the  little  pasties 
which  the  cook  had  made  in  the  hope  of  surprising  the 

But  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  though  he  was  used  to  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  dinners,  found  everything  excellent,  the 
travnik,  or  herb-beer,  the  bread,  the  butter,  and  especially 
the  cold  chicken,  the  mushrooms,  the  sJicJii,  or  cabbage- 
soup,  the  fowl  with  white  sauce,  and  the  white  Krimean 
wine, — everything  was  admirable,  wonderful ! 

"Perfect !  perfect !  "  he  cried,  as  he  Jit  a  big  cigarette 
after  the  roast.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  had  escaped  the  shocks 
and  noise  of  a  ship,  and  had  landed  on  a  peaceful  shore. 
And  so  you  say  that  the  element  represented  by  the 
working-man  ought  to  be  studied  above  all  others,  and 
be  taken  as  a  guide  in  the    choice  of   economy  expe- 

VOL.  1. —  14 


dients.  You  see  I  am  a  profanus  in  these  questions, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  this  theory  and  its  applications 
would  have  an  influence  on  the  working-man...." 

"Yes;  but  hold  on.  I  am  not  speaking  of  political 
economy,  but  of  rural  economy  considered  as  a  science. 
You  must  study  the  premises,  the  phenomena,  just  the 
same  as  in  the  natural  sciences ;  and  the  working-man, 
from  the  economical  and  ethnographical  point  of  view ...." 

But  here  Agafya  Mikhailovna  entered  with  the  des- 
sert of  preserves. 

"  Well,  now !  accept  my  compliments,  Agafya  Mi- 
khaVlovna,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  kissing  the  ends 
of  his  hairy  fingers.  "  What  nice  baked  chicken ! 
What  delicious  beer !  —  Well,  Kostia,  is  n't  it  time  to 
go  .■• "  he  added. 

Levin  looked  out  of  the  window  toward  the  sun, 
which  was  sinking  behind  the  tree-tops,  still  bare  and 

"  It  is  time.  Kuzma,  have  the  horses  hitched  up," 
he  cried,  as  he  went  down-stairs. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  followed  him,  and  carefully  re- 
moved the  canvas  covering  from  the  lacquered  case,  and, 
having  opened  it,  proceeded  to  take  out  his  costly  gun, 
which  was  of  the  newest  pattern. 

Kuzma,  already  scenting  a  generous  fee,  gave  him 
assiduous  attention,  and  helped  him  put  on  his  stock- 
ings and  his  hunting-boots  ;  and  Stepan  Arkadyevitch 
accepted  his  aid  complacently. 

"If  the  merchant  Rabinin  comes  while  we  are  gone, 
Kostia,  —  I  told  him  to  be  here  to-day,  —  do  me  the  favor 
to  have  him  kept  till  we  get  back."  .... 

"  Are  you  going  to  sell  your  wood  to  Rabinin .'' " 

"Yes.     Why,  do  you  know  him  .''  " 

"Oh!  certainly  I  know  him.  I  have  done  business 
with  him,  'positively  and  finally.'  " 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  Posi- 
tively and  finally  "  were  the  favorite  words  of  the  mer- 

"Yes;  he  is  very  droll  in  his  speech!  —  She  knows 
where  her  master  is  going,"  he  added,  patting  Laska, 


who  was  jumping  and  barking  around  Levin,  licking 
now  his  hand,  now  his  boots  and  gun. 

A  dolgusha,  or  hunting-wagon,  was  waiting  at  the 
steps  as  they  came  out. 

"  I  had  the  horses  put  in,  although  we  have  but  a 
little  distance  to  go,"  said  Levin  ;  "  but  would  you  rather 

"No,  I  prefer  to  ride,"  replied  Stepan  Arkadyevitch, 
as  he  mounted  the  wagon.  He  sat  down,  tucking  round 
his  legs  a  striped  plaid,  and  lighted  a  cigar.  "How 
can  you  get  along  without  smoking,  Kostia .-'  A  cigar  is  not  only  a  pleasure,  it  is  the  very  crown  and 
sign  of  delight.  This  is  life  indeed.  How  delightful ! 
I  should  like  to  live  like  this  !  " 

"  What 's  to  prevent  .-' "  asked  Levin,  with  a  smile. 

"Yes;  but  you  are  a  fortunate  man,  for  you  have 
everything  that  you  like.  You  like  horses,  you  have 
them  ;  dogs,  you  have  them ;  hunting,  here  it  is  ;  an 
estate,  here  it  is  !  " 

"Perhaps  it  is  because  I  enjoy  what  I  have,  and 
don't  covet  what  I  have  not,"  replied  Levin,  with  Kitty 
in  his  mind. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  understood,  and  looked  at  him 
without  speaking. 

Levin  was  grateful  to  Oblonsky  because  he  avoided 
speaking  about  the  Shcherbatskys,  with  his  usual  tact 
perceiving  that  Levin  dreaded  to  speak  about  them  ; 
but  now  he  felt  anxious  to  find  out  how  matters  stood, 
but  he  did  not  dare  to  inquire. 

"  Well,  how  go  your  affairs  }  "  asked  Levin,  realizing 
how  selfish  it  was  in  him  to  think  only  of  himself. 

Oblonsky's  eyes  glistened  with  gayety. 

"You  will  not  admit  that  one  can  want  hot  rolls  when 
he  has  his  monthly  rations  ;  in  your  eyes  it  is  a  crime : 
but  for  me,  I  cannot  admit  the  possibility  of  living  with- 
out love,"  he  replied,  construing  Levin's  question  in  his 
own  fashion.  "  What 's  to  be  done  about  it .-'  I  am  so 
constituted.  And  it  is  a  fact,  it  does  so  little. harm  to 
any  one  else,  and  gives  one  so  much  pleasure...." 

"What!  there  is  a  new  one,  is  there?"  asked  Levin. 


"  There  is,  brother !  You  know  the  type  of  the 
women  in  Ossian  ?....  these  women  that  you  see  in 
dreams  ?  ....  But  they  really  exist,  and  are  terrible. 
Woman,  you  see,  is  an  inexhaustible  theme ;  you  can 
never  cease  studying  her,  —  she  always  presents  some 
new  phase." 

"  So  much  the  better  not  to  study  her,  then." 

"  Not  at  all.  Some  mathematician  has  said  that  hap- 
piness consisted  in  searching  for  truth  and  never  find- 
ing it." 

Levin  listened,  and  said  no  more ;  and,  notwithstanding 
all  the  efforts  which  he  made,  he  could  not  in  the  least 
enter  into  his  friend's  soul,  and  understand  his  feelings 
and  the  charm  of  studying  such  women. 


The  place  where  the  birds  collected  was  not  far 
away,  by  a  small  stream,  flowing  through  an  aspen 
grove.  Levin  got  out  and  took  Oblonsky  to  a  nook  in 
a  mossy,  somewhat  marshy  meadow,  where  the  snow 
had  already  melted.  He  himself  went  to  the  opposite 
side,  near  a  double  birch,  rested  his  gun  on  the  fork  of 
a  dead  branch,  took  off  his  kaftan,  clasped  a  belt  about 
his  waist,  and  insured  the  free  motion  of  his  arms. 

Old  gray  Laska,  following  him  step  by  step,  sat  down 
cautiously  in  front  of  him,  and  pricked  up  her  ears. 
The  sun  was  setting  behind  the  great  forest,  and  against 
the  bright  sky  the  young  birches  and  aspens  stood  out 
distinctly,  with  their  bending  branches  and  their  swell- 
ing buds. 

In  the  forest,  where  the  snow  still  lay,  the  low  rip- 
pling sound  of  waters  could  be  heard  running  in  their 
narrow  channels  ;  little  birds  were  chirping,  and  flying 
from  tree  to  tree.  In  the  intervals  of  perfect  silence 
one  could  hear  the  rustling  of  the  last  year's  leaves, 
moved  by  the  thawing  earth  or  the  pushing  herbs. 

"  Why,  one  really  can  hear  and  see  the  grass  grow  !  " 
said  Levin  to  himself,  as  he  saw  a  moist  and  slate-col- 


ored  aspen  leaf  raised  by  the  blade  of  a  young  herb  start- 
ing from  the  sod. 

He  stood,  listening  and  looking,  now  at  the  damp 
moss-covered  ground,  now  at  the  watchful  Laska,  now 
at  the  bare  tree-tops  of  the  forest,  which  swept  like  a  sea  to 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  now  at  the  darkening  sky,  where 
floated  Httle  white  bits  of  cloud.  A  hawk  flew  aloft, 
slowly  flapping  his  broad  wings  above  the  distant  forest ; 
another  took  the  same  direction  and  disappeared.  In 
the  thicket  the  birds  were  chirping  louder  and  more 
gayly  than  ever.  Not  far  away,  an  owl  lifted  his  voice, 
and  Laska  pricked  up  her  ears  again,  took  two  or  three 
cautious  steps,  and  bent  her  head  to  listen.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  stream  a  cuckoo  sang.  Twice  it  uttered 
its  customary  cry,  and  then  its  voice  grew  hoarse,  it 
flew  away,  and  was  heard  no  more. 

"  Why,  the  cuckoo  has  come  !  "  said  Stepan  Arka- 
dyevitch,  coming  out  from  behind  his  thicket. 

"  Yes,  I  hear,"  said  Levin,  disgusted  that  the  silence 
of  the  forest  was  broken,  by  the  sound  even  of  his  own 
voice.     "You  won't  have  to  wait  long  now." 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  returned  to  his  place  behind  his 
thicket,  and  Levin  saw  only  the  flash  of  a  match  and 
the  red  glow  of  his  cigarette  and  a  light  bluish  smoke. 

Tchik !  tchik  !     Stepan  Arkadyevitch  cocked  his  gun. 

"  What  was  that  making  that  noise  } "  he  asked  of 
his  companion,  attracting  his  attention  to  a  protracted 
humming  as  if  a  colt  was  neighing  with  a  very  slender 

"  Don't  you  know  what  that  is  .<*  That  is  the  buck 
rabbit.  Don't  speak  any  more.  Listen,  there  is  a 
bird  !  "  cried  Levin,  cocking  his  gun. 

A  slender  distant  whistle  was  heard,  with  that  rhyth- 
mic regularity  which  the  huntsman  knows  so  well ;  then 
a  moment  or  two  later  it  was  repeated  nearer,  and  sud- 
denly changed  into  a  hoarse  little  cry. 

Levin  turned  his  eyes  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  and 
finally  saw,  just  above  his  head,  against  the  fading  blue 
of  the  sky,  above  the  gently  waving  aspens,  a  bird  fly- 
ing.    It  flew  straight  toward  him  ;  its  cry,  like  the  noise 


made  by  tearing  stiff  cloth,  rang  in  his  ears  ;  then  he 
distinguished  the  long  bill  and  the  long  neck  of  the 
bird,  but  hardly  had  he  caught  sight  of  it  when  a  red 
flash  shone  out  from  behind  Oblonsky's  bush.  The 
bird  darted  off  like  an  arrow  and  rose  into  the  air  again  ; 
but  again  the  light  flashed  and  a  report  was  heard,  and 
the  bird,  vainly  striving  to  rise,  flapped  its  wings  for  a 
second,  and  fell  heavily  to  the  wet  earth. 

"  Did  I  miss  ? "  asked  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  who 
could  see  nothing  through  the  smoke. 

"  Here  she  is,"  cried  Levin,  pointing  to  Laska,  who, 
with  one  ear  erect,  and  waving  the  tip  end  of  her  hairy 
tail,  slowly,  as  if  to  lengthen  out  the  pleasure,  came  back 
with  the  bird  in  her  mouth,  seeming  almost  to  smile  as 
she  laid  the  game  down  at  her  master's  feet. 

"  Well  now,  I  am  glad  you  succeeded,"  said  Levin, 
though  he  felt  a  slight  sensation  of  envy,  because  he 
himself  had  not  killed  this  snipe. 

"The  right  barrel  missed,  curse  it !  "  replied  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch,  reloading  his  gun.  '*  S/t  /....Here's  an- 

In  fact,  the  whistles  came  thicker  and  thicker,  rapid 
and  sharp.  Two  snipe  flew  over  the  hunters,  playing, 
chasing  each  other,  and  only  whistling,  not  clucking. 
Four  shots  rang  out ;  and  the  snipe,  making  a  sudden 
turn  like  swallows,  disappeared  from  sight. 

The  sport  was  excellent.  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  killed 
two  others,  and  Levin  also  two,  one  of  which  was  lost. 
It  grew  darker  and  darker.  Venus,  with  silvery  light, 
shone  out  low  in  the  west  from  behind  the  birches ; 
and  high  in  the  east,  Arcturus  gleamed,  with  his  somber, 
reddish  fire.  Above  his  head.  Levin  found  and  lost  the 
stars  of  the  Great  Bear.  The  snipe  had  now  ceased  to 
fly,  but  Levin  resolved  to  wait  until  Venus,  which  was 
visible  above  the  birch  trees,  should  stand  clear  above 
the  lower  branches,  and  till  all  the  stars  of  the  Great 
Bear  should  be  entirely  visible.  The  star  had  passed 
beyond  the  birch  trees,  and  the  wain  of  the  Bear  with 


its  pole  was  shining  out  clear  in  the  dark  blue  sky,  and 
he  was  still  waiting. 

"  Is  n't  it  getting  late  ? "  asked  Stepan  Arkadyevitch. 

All  was  calm  in  the  forest ;  not  a  bird  moved. 

"  Let  us  wait  a  little  longer,"  replied  Levin. 

"Just  as  you  please." 

At  this  moment  they  were  not  fifteen  paces  apart. 

"  Stiva,"  cried  Levin,  suddenly,  "you  have  not  told 
me  whether  your  sister-in-law  is  married  yet,  or  whether 
she  is  to  be  married  soon." 

He  felt  so  calm,  his  mind  was  so  thoroughly  made 
up,  that  nothing,  he  thought,  could  move  him.  But 
what  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  answered  was  wholly  un- 

"  She  is  not  married,  and  she  is  not  thinking  of 
marriage.  She  is  very  ill,  and  the  doctors  have  sent 
her  abroad.     They  even  fear  for  her  life." 

"What  did  you  say  .^ "  cried  Levin.  "Very  ill? 
What  is  the  matter .-'     How  did  she....  " 

While  they  were  talking  thus,  Laska,  with  ears  erect, 
was  gazing  at  the  sky  above  her  head,  and  looking  at 
them  reproachfully. 

"This  is  not  the  time  to  talk,"  thought  Laska.  "Ah  ! 
Here  comes  one  —  there  he  goes;  they  will  miss  him." 

At  the  same  instant  a  sharp  whistle  pierced  the  ears 
of  the  two  huntsmen,  and  both,  leveling  their  guns, 
shot  at  once ;  the  two  reports,  the  two  flashes,  were 
simultaneous.  The  snipe,  flying  high,  folded  his  wings, 
drew  up  his  delicate  legs,  and  fell  into  the  thicket. 

"Excellent!  both  together!"  cried  Levin,  running 
with  Laska  in  search  of  the  game.  "  Oh,  yes  !  What 
was  it  that  hurt  me  so  just  now.?  Ah,  yes  !  Kitty  is 
ill,"  he  remembered.  "  What  is  to  be  done  about  it  .-• 
It  is  too  bad.  —  Ah  !  she  has  found  it !  Good  dog,"  said 
he,  taking  the  bird,  still  warm,  from  Laska's  mouth,  and 
putting  it  into  his  overflowing  game-bag. 

"  Come  on,  Stiva  I  "  he  cried. 



On  their  way  home,  Levin  questioned  his  friend  about 
Kitty's  illness  and  the  plans  of  the  Shcherbatskys. 
Though  it  caused  some  conscientious  scruples,  what  he 
heard  was  pleasant  news  to  him.  It  was  pleasant  because 
it  left  him  with  some  grounds  for  hope,  and  it  was  still 
more  pleasant  to  think  that  she  who  had  caused  him  so 
much  suffering,  was  suffering  herself.  But  when  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch  began  to  speak  of  the  reason  of  Kitty's 
illness,  and  pronounced  the  name  of  Vronsky,  he  inter- 
rupted him. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  know  these  family  matters,  since 
I  am  not  concerned." 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  smiled  imperceptibly  as  he 
noticed  the  sudden  and  characteristic  change  in  Levin, 
who,  in  an  instant,  had  passed  from  gayety  to  sadness. 

"  Have  you  succeeded  in  your  transaction  with  Rabinin 
about  the  wood  ? "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  I  have  made  the  bargain.  He  gives  me  an 
excellent  price, — thirty-eight  thousand  rubles,  eight  in 
advance,  and  the  rest  in  six  years.  I  had  been  long 
about  it ;  no  one  offered  me  any  more." 

"That  means  you  are  selling  your  wood  for  a  song," 
said  Levin,  frowning. 

"Why  so.?"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  with  a  good- 
humored  smile,  knowing  that  now  Levin  would  totally 
disapprove  of  everything. 

"  Because  your  wood  is  worth  at  least  five  hundred 
rubles  a  desyatin." 

"Oh  !  You  rural  economists  ! "  replied  Stepan  Arka- 
dyevitch, banteringly.  "What  a  tone  of  scorn  to  us, 
your  city  brother ! ....  And  yet,  when  it  comes  to  busi- 
ness matters,  we  come  out  of  it  better  than  you  do. 
Believe  me,  I  have  made  a  careful  calculation.  The 
wood  is  sold  under  very  favorable  conditions  ;  and  I 
fear  only  one  thing,  and  that  is  lest  the  merchant  will 
back  out  of  it !  You  see,  it  is  wretched  wood,"  he  went 
on,  accenting   the  word  wretched,   so   as   to  convince 


Levin  of  the  unfairness  of  his  criticism,  "and  nothing 
but  fire-wood.  There  will  not  be  much  more  than  thirty 
cords  to  the  acre,^  and  he  pays  me  at  the  rate  of  two 
hundred  rubles." 

Levin  smiled  scornfully. 

'•  I  know  these  city  people,"  he  thought,  "  who,  com- 
ing twice  in  ten  years  into  the  country,  and  learning 
two  or  three  country  words,  which  they  use  appropri- 
ately or  inappropriately,  are  firmly  persuaded  that  they 
know  it  all.  '  Wretched  !  only  thirty  cords ! '  he  speaks 
words  without  knowing  what  he  is  talking  about." 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  teach  you  what  you  write  in 
your  office,"  said  he,  "and,  if  I  needed,  I  would  even 
ask  your  advice.  But  you  are  so  sure  that  you  under- 
stand this  whole  document  about  the  wood.  It  is  hard. 
Have  you  counted  the  trees  .-*  " 

"  What }  Count  my  trees  .? "  asked  Stepan  Arkadye- 
vitch,  with  a  laugh,  and  still  trying  to  get  his  friend  out 
of  his  ill-humor.  "  Count  the  sands,  the  rays  of  the 
planets  —  though  a  lofty  genius  might ....  " 

"Well,  now!  I  tell  you  the  lofty  genius  of  Rabinin 
may  !  Never  does  a  merchant  purchase  without  count- 
ing,—  unless,  indeed,  the  wood  is  given  away  for  noth- 
ing as  you  have  done.  I  know  your  forest,  I  go  hunting 
there  every  year  ;  and  your  forest  is  worth  five  hundred 
rubles  a  desyatin  cash  down  ;  and  he  has  given  you  only 
two  hundred,  and  on  a  long  term.  That  means  you  make 
him  a  present  of  thirty  thousand." 

"  Well,  enough  of  imaginary  receipts,"  said  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch,  plaintively.  "  Why  did  n't  some  one  offer 
me  this  price  }  " 

"  Because  the  merchants  connive  together.  I  have 
had  to  do  with  all  of  them  ;  I  know  them.  They  are 
not  merchants,  but  speculators.  None  of  them  is  satis- 
fied with  a  profit  less  than  ten  or  fifteen  percent.  They 
wait  till  they  can  buy  for  twenty  kopeks  what  is  worth  a 

"Well,  enough  ;  you  are  out  of  sorts." 

'  Thirty  sazhens  to  the  desyatin.  A  desyatin  is  2.7  acre.  A  cubic 
tazhen  is  2.68  cords. 


"  Not  at  all,"  said  Levin,  sadly,  as  they  were  approach 
ing  the  house. 

A  small  cart,  tightly  bound  with  iron  and  leather,  drawn 
by  a  fat  horse,  tightly  harnessed  with  wide  straps,  was 
standing  at  the  entrance ;  in  the  cart  sat  a  red-faced 
overseer  tightly  belted,  who  served  Rabinin  as  a  coach- 
man. Rabinin  himself  was  already  in  the  house,  and 
met  the  two  friends  in  the  vestibule.  Rabinin  was  a 
man  of  middle  age,  tall  and  thin,  wearing  a  mustache, 
but  his  prominent  chin  was  well  shaven.  His  eyes  were 
protuberant  and  muddy.  He  was  clad  in  a  dark  blue 
coat  with  buttons  set  low  behind,  and  he  wore  high 
boots,  wrinkled  around  the  ankles  and  smooth  over  the 
calves,  and  over  his  boots  huge  galoshes.  Wiping  his 
face  with  his  handkerchief,  and  wrapping  his  over- 
coat closely  around  him,  though  without  that  it  fitted 
him  well  enough,  he  came  out  with  a  smile,  to  meet 
the  gentlemen  as  they  entered.  He  gave  one  hand 
to  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  as  if  he  wanted  to  grasp  some- 

"Ah!  Here  you  are,"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch, 
shaking  hands.     "Very  good." 

"  I  should  not  have  ventured  to  disobey  your  excel- 
lency's orders,  though  the  roads  are  very  bad.  Posi- 
tively, I  came  all  the  way  on  foot,  but  I  got  here  on  time. 
A  greeting  to  you,  Konstantin  Dmitritch,"  said  he, 
turning  to  Levin,  intending  to  seize  his  hand  also ; 
but  Levin,  frowning,  affected  not  to  notice  the  motion, 
and  began  to  take  out  the  snipe. 

"You  have  been  enjoying  a  hunt  .^  What  kind  of  a 
bird  is  that  ?  "  asked  Rabinin,  looking  at  the  snipe  dis- 
dainfully. "I  suppose  it  has  a  peculiar  flavor."  And 
he  shook  his  head  disapprovingly,  as  if  he  felt  doubtful 
whether  the  game  were  worth  the  candle. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  into  the  library.^"  said  Levin, 
darkly  scowling,  addressing  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  in 
French.  "  Go  to  the  library,  and  discuss  your  business 

"Just  as  you  please,"  replied  the  merchant,  in  a  tone 
of  disdainful    superiority,  apparently  wishing   it   to  be 


understood  that  others  might  find  difficulties  in  trans- 
acting business,  but  that  he  never  could. 

As  he  entered  the  library,  Rabinin  glanced  about  as 
if  his  eyes  were  in  search  of  the  holy  image ;  but  when 
he  caught  sight  of  it,  he  did  not  cross  himself.  He 
glanced  at  the  bookcases  and  the  shelves  lined  with 
books,  and  with  the  same  air  of  doubt  that  the  snipe  had 
caused,  he  smiled  scornfully  and  shook  his  head  disap- 
provingly, as  if  this  kind  of  game  also  were  not  worth 
the  candle. 

"  Well,  did  you  bring  the  money  ? "  asked  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch.     "  Sit  down." 

"  The  money  will  come  all  in  good  time,  but  I  came 
to  see  you  and  have  a  talk." 

"  What  have  we  to  talk  about  ?  However,  sit 

"  May  as  well  sit  down,"  said  Rabinin,  taking  a  chair, 
and  leaning  back  in  it  in  the  most  uncomfortable  atti- 
tude. "You  must  give  in  a  trifle,  prince;  it  would  be 
sinful  not  to  do  it.  As  to  the  money,  it  is  all  ready, 
absolutely  and  finally  even  to  the  last  kopek ;  as  far  as 
the  money  goes,  there  will  be  no  delay." 

Levin,  who  had  been  putting  his  gun  away  in  the 
armory,  and  was  just  leaving  the  room,  stopped  as  he 
heard  the  last  words. 

"  You  bought  the  wood  for  a  song,"  said  he.  "  He 
came  to  visit  me  too  late ;  I  would  have  got  a  good  price 
for  it." 

Rabinin  arose  and  smilingly  contemplated  Levin  from 
head  to  foot,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Konstantin  Levin  is  very  sharp,"  said  he,  at  length, 
turning  to  Stepan  Arkadyevitch.  "  One  never  succeeds 
in  arranging  a  bargain  finally  with  him.  I  have  bought 
wheat,  and  paid  good  prices." 

"  Why  should  I  give  you  my  property  for  a  song  ?  I 
did  not  find  it  in  the  ground,  nor  did  I  steal  it." 

"  Excuse  me  ;  at  the  present  day  it  is  absolutely  im- 
possible to  be  a  thief,  everything  is  done,  in  the  present 
day,  honestly  and  openly.  Who  could  steal,  then .-'  We 
have  spoken  honestly  and  honorably.     The  wood  is  too 


dear ;  I  shall  not  make  the  two  ends  meet.  I  beg  him 
to  yield  a  little." 

"  But  is  your  bargain  made,  or  is  it  not  ?  If  it  is 
made,  there  is  no  need  of  haggling;  if  it  is  not,"  said 
Levin,  "  I  am  going  to  buy  the  wood." 

The  smile  suddenly  disappeared  from  Rabinin's  lips. 
A  rapacious  and  cruel  expression,  like  that  of  a  bird  of 
prey,  came  in  its  place.  With  his  bony  fingers  he  tore 
open  his  overcoat,  bringing  into  sight  his  shirt,  his  waist- 
coat with  its  copper  buttons,  and  his  watch-chain  ;  and 
from  his  breast-pocket  he  pulled  out  a  huge,  well-worn 

"  Excuse  me,  the  wood  is  mine,"  he  exclaimed,  making  a 
rapid  sign  of  the  cross,  and  he  extended  his  hand.  "  Take 
your  money,  the  wood  is  mine.  This  is  how  Rabinin 
ends  his  transactions.  He  does  not  reckon  his  kopeks," 
said  he,  knitting  his  brows  and  waving  his  wallet  eagerly. 

"  If  I  were  in  your  place,  I  should  not  be  in  haste," 
said  Levin. 

"  Mercy  on  me  !  "  said  Oblonsky,  astonished,  "  I  hav^e 
given  my  word." 

Levin  dashed  out  of  the  room,  slamming  the  door. 
Rabinin  glanced  at  the  door  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Merely  the  effect  of  youth  ;  definitely,  pure  child- 
ishness. Believe  me,  I  buy  this,  so  to  speak,  for  the 
sake  of  glory,  so  that  they  may  say,  *  It 's  Rabinin,  and 
not  some  one  else,  who  has  bought  Oblonsky's  forest.' 
And  God  knows  how  I  shall  come  out  of  it !  Have  faith 
in  God  !     Please  sign."  .... 

An  hour  later  the  merchant,  carefully  wrapping  his 
khalat  around  him  and  buttoning  up  his  overcoat,  took 
his  seat  in  his  cart  and  drove  home,  with  the  agreement 
in  his  pocket. 

"  Oh  !  these  gentlemen  ! "  he  said  to  his  overseer, 
"always  the  same  story." 

"  So  it  is,"  replied  the  prikashchik,  giving  up  the  reins, 
so  as  to  arrange  the  leather  boot.  "  And  your  little  pur- 
chase, Mikhail  Ignatyitch?" 

"Well!  well!" 



Stepan  Arkadyevitch  went  up-stairs,  his  pockets 
bulging  out  with  "  promises  to  pay,"  due  in  three  months, 
which  the  merchant  had  given  him.  The  sale  of  the 
forest  was  concluded ;  he  had  money  in  his  pocket ; 
sport  had  been  good  ;  and  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  was  in 
the  happiest  frame  of  mind,  and  therefore  was  especially 
eager  to  dispel  the  sadness  which  had  taken  possession 
of  Levin.  He  wanted  a  good  ending  for  the  day  that 
since  dinner  had  shown  such  promise. 

In  point  of  fact,  Levin  was  not  in  good  spirits,  and 
in  spite  of  his  desire  to  seem  amiable  and  thoughtful 
toward  his  beloved  guest,  he  could  not  control  himself. 
The  intoxication  which  he  felt  in  learning  that  Kitty 
was  not  married  had  begun  little  by  little  to  affect  him. 

Kitty  not  married,  and  ill  —  ill  from  love  for  a  man 
who  had  jilted  her.  It  was  almost  like  a  personal  in- 
sult. Vronsky  had  slighted  her,  and  she  had  slighted 
him.  Levin,  consequently,  had  gained  the  right  to  de- 
spise him.  He  was  therefore  his  enemy.  Levin  did 
not  reason  this  all  out.  He  had  a  vague  sense  that 
there  was  something  in  this  humiliating  to  him,  and  he 
was  angry  now  because  it  had  upset  his  plans,  and  so 
everything  which  came  up  annoyed  him.  The  stupid 
sale  of  the  forest,  which  had  taken  place  under  his  roof, 
and  the  way  Oblonsky  had  been  cheated,  exasperated  him. 

"  Well,  is  it  finished  ? "  he  asked,  as  he  met  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch  up-stairs.  "  Would  you  like  some  sup- 
per .?  " 

"Yes,  I  won't  refuse.  What  an  appetite  I  feel  in 
the  country  !  It 's  wonderful !  Why  did  n't  you  offer  a 
bite  to  Rabinin  .?  " 

"Ah!  the  devil  take  him!" 

"  Why  !  how  you  treated  him  !  "  exclaimed  Oblonsky. 
"You  didn't  even  offer  him  your  hand!  Why  didn't 
you  offer  him  your  hand  .-'  " 

"  Because  I  don't  shake  hands  with  my  lackey,  and 
my  lackey  is  worth  a  hundred  of  him." 


"  What  a  retrograde  you  are !  And  how  about  the 
fusion  of  classes  ?  "  said  Oblonsky. 

"  Let  those  who  like  it,  enjoy  it !  It  is  disgusting 
to  me." 

"  You,  I  see,  are  a  retrograde." 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  I  never  asked  myself  what  I  am. 
I  am  Konstantin  Levin  —  nothing  more." 

"And  Konstantin  Levin  in  a  very  bad  humor,"  said 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  smiling. 

"  Yes,  I  am  in  bad  humor,  and  do  you  know  why  .■* 
Because ....  excuse  me ....  because  of  your  stupid  barg....  " 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  frowned  good-naturedly,  like  a 
man  who  is  unreasonably  scolded  and  blamed. 

"There!  that'll  do!"  he  said.  "After  any  one  has 
sold  anything,  they  come  saying,  *You  might  have  sold 
this  at  a  higher  price ; '    but  no  one  thinks  of  offering 

this  fine  price  before  the  sale No;  I  see  you  have 

a  grudge  against  this  unfortunate  Rabinin." 

"  Maybe  I  have.  And  do  you  know  why  ?  You  will 
call  me  retrograde  or  some  worse  name,  but  it  is  so 
vexatious  and  disgusting  to  me  to  see  what  is  going 
on  everywhere — the  nobility  which  I  belong  to,  and 
in  spite  of  your  fusion  of  classes,  am  very  glad  to  be- 
long to,  always  getting  poorer  and  poorer And  this 

growing  poverty  is  not  in  consequence  of  luxurious 
living.  That  would  be  nothing.  To  live  like  lords  is 
proper  for  the  nobles  ;  the  nobles  only  can  do  this. 
Now  the  muzhiks  are  buying  up  our  lands  ;  that  does  not 
trouble  me  ;  the  proprietor  does  nothing,  the  muzhik 
is  industrious,  and  supplants  the  lazy  man.  So  it  ought 
to  be.  And  I  am  very  glad  for  the  muzhik.  But  what 
vexes  me,  and  stirs  my  soul,  is  to  see  the  proprietor 
robbed  by....  I  don't  know  how  to  express  it....  by  his 
own  innocence.  Here  is  a  Polish  leaseholder,  who  has 
bought,  at  half  price,  a  superb  estate  of  a  lady  who 
lives  at  Nice.  Yonder  is  a  merchant  who  has  hired  a 
farm  for  a  ruble  an  acre,  and  it  is  worth  ten  rubles  an 
acre.  And  this  very  day,  without  the  slightest  reason, 
you  have  given  this  rascal  a  present  of  thirty  thousand." 

"  But  what  can  I  do  ?     Count  my  trees  one  by  one  ? " 


"  Certainly  ;  if  you  have  not  counted  them,  Rabinin 
did,  and  his  children  will  have  the  means  whereby  to 
live  and  get  an  education,  whereas  yours,  perhaps,  will 

"  Well,  forgive  me,  but  there  is  something  pitiful  in 
such  minute  calculations.  We  have  our  ways  of  doing 
things,  and  they  have  theirs  ;  and  let  them  get  the 
profits.  There  now !  Moreover,  it  is  done,  and  that 's 
the  end  of  it And  here  is  my  favorite  omelette  com- 
ing in  ;  and  then  Agafya  Mikhailovna  will  certainly  give 
us  a  glass  of  her  marvelous  herb-beer." .... 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  sat  down  at  the  table  and  be- 
gan to  joke  with  Agafya  Mikhailovna,  assuring  her  that 
he  had  not  eaten  such  a  dinner  and  such  a  supper  for 
an  age. 

"  You  can  give  fine  speeches,  at  least,"  said  Agafya 
Mikhailovna.  "  But  Konstantin  Dmitritch,  whatever 
was  set  before  him,  if  only  a  crust  of  bread,  would  eat 
it  and  go  away." 

Levin,  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  control  himself,  was 
melancholy  and  gloomy.  He  wanted  to  ask  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch  one  question,  but  he  could  not  make  up 
his  mind,  nor  could  he  find  either  the  opportunity  in 
which  to  ask  it,  or  a  suitable  form  in  which  to  couch  it. 

Stepan  Arkadyevitch  had  gone  down  to  his  room, 
and,  after  another  bath,  had  put  on  a  ruffled  night-shirt 
and  gone  to  bed.  Levin  still  dallied  in  his  room,  talking 
about  various  trifles,  but  not  having  the  courage  to  ask 
what  he  had  at  heart. 

"How  wonderfully  well  this  is  made!"  said  he,  tak- 
ing from  its  wrapper  a  piece  of  perfumed  soap,  which 
Agafya  Mikhailovna  had  prepared  for  the  guest,  but 
which  Oblonsky  had  not  used.  "Just  look;  isn't  it 
truly  a  work  of  art  ?" 

"  Yes ;  all  sorts  of  improvements  nowadays,"  said 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  with  a  beatific  yawn.  "The 
theaters,  for  example,  and  — a  —  a — a" — yawning  again 
—  "these  amusing  a-a-a ....  and  electric  lights  every- 
where a-a-a-a-a....  " 

"  Yes,  the  electric  lights,"  repeated    Levin.     "  And 


that  Vronsky,  where  is  he  now  ? "  he  suddenly  asked, 
putting  down  the  soap. 

"Vronsky?"  said  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  ceasing  to 
yawn,  "  He  is  at  Petersburg.  He  went  away  shortly 
after  you  did,  and  has  not  been  in  Moscow  since.  And 
do  you  know,  Kostia,"  he  continued,  leaning  his  elbow 
on  a  little  take  placed  near  the  head  of  the  bed,  and 
resting  his  handsome  ruddy  face  on  his  hand,  while  two 
oily,  good-natured,  and  sleepy  eyes  shone  out  like  twin 
stars,  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  the  truth.  You  yourself 
were  to  blame.  You  were  afraid  of  a  rival.  And  I  will 
remind  you  of  what  I  said  :  I  don't  know  which  of  you 
had  the  best  chances.  Why  didn't  you  go  ahead,?  I 
told  you  then  that...." 

He  yawned  again,  with  his  jaws  only,  trying  not  to 
open  his  mouth. 

"Does  he,  or  does  n't  he,  know  that  I  offered  myself  .-• " 
thought  Levin,  looking  at  him.  "  Yes  !  there  is  some- 
thing subtle,  something  diplomatic,  in  his  face ; "  and, 
feeling  that  he  was  flushing,  he  said  nothing,  but  looked 
straight  into  Oblonsky's  eyes. 

"  If  on  her  part  there  was  any  feeling  for  him,  it  was 
merely  a  slight  drawing,"  continued  Oblonsky.  "  You 
know,  that  absolutely  high  breeding  of  his  and  the 
chances  of  position  in  the  world  had  an  effect  on  her 
mother,  but  not  on  her." 

Levin  frowned.  The  humiliation  of  his  rejection, 
with  which  he  was  suffering  as  from  a  recent  wound, 
smarted  in  his  heart.  Fortunately,  he  was  at  home ; 
and  the  very  walls  of  the  home  sustain  one. 

**  Wait !  wait !  "  he  interrupted  ;  "  you  said,  '  high 
breeding '  !  ^  But  let  me  ask  you,  what  means  this  high 
breeding  of  Vronsky,  or  any  one  else  —  a  high  breeding 
that  could  look  down  on  me.  You  consider  Vronsky  an 
aristocrat.  I  don't,  A  man  whose  father  sprang  from 
nothing,  by  means  of  intrigue,  whose  mother  has  had 
liaisons  with  God  knows  whom  ....  Oh,  no,  excuse  me  ! 
Aristocrats,  in  my  opinion,  are  men  like  myself,  who 
can  show  in  the  past  three  or  four  generations  of  excel- 

^  Aristokratism. 


lent  families,  belonging  to  the  most  cultivated  classes, 
—  talents  and  intellect  are  another  matter, — who  never 
abased  themselves  before  anybody,  and  vi'erc  never  de- 
pendent on  others, — like  my  father  and  grandfather. 
And  I  know  many  such.  It  seems  small  business  to 
you  that  I  count  my  trees,  while  you  give  thirty  thou- 
sand rubles  to  Rabinin :  but  you  receive  a  salary,  and 
other  things  ;  and  I  receive  nothing  of  the  sort,  and 
therefore  I  appreciate  what  my  father  left  me,  and  what 

my  labor  gives  me We  are  the  aristocrats,  and  not 

those  who  live  only  by  means  of  what  the  powers  of 
this  world  dole  out  to  them,  and  who  can  be  bought  for 
a  copper." 

"  There !  whom  are  you  so  angry  with  ?  I  agree  with 
you,"  replied  Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  sincerely  and  gayly, 
though  he  knew  that  when  Levin  hurled  his  sarcasms 
at  those  who  could  be  bought  for  a  copper,  he  meant 
him.  But  Levin's  animation  really  pleased  him. 
"  Whom  are  you  angry  with  .-'  Though  much  of  what 
you  say  about  Vronsky  is  not  true,  still  I  won't  speak 
about  that.  I  will  tell  you  frankly  that  if  I  were  in 
your  place,  I  would  start  for  Moscow,  and  ....  " 

"  No  !  I  don't  know  whether  you  know  or  not,  — 
but  it  's  over  for  me.  I  will  tell  you.  I  proposed  and 
was  rejected ;  so  that  now  the  memory  of  Katerina 
Aleksandrovna  is  painful  and  humiliating." 

"  Why  so  ?     What  nonsense  !  " 

"  But  let  us  not  speak  of  it.  Forgive  me  if  I  have 
been  rude  to  you,"  said  Levin.  Now  that  he  had  made 
a  clean  breast  of  it,  he  began  once  more  to  feel  as  he 
had  felt  in  the  morning.  "  You  will  not  be  angry  with 
me,  Stiva  .•*  I  beg  of  you,  don't  be  angry  with  me," 
said  he,  and  with  a  smile  he  took  his  hand. 

"  Of  course  not.  I  will  not  think  anything  more 
about  it.  I  am  very  glad,  though,  that  we  have  spoken 
frankly  to  each  other.  And,  do  you  know,  sport  will 
be  capital  to-morrow.  We  can  try  it  again,  can't  we  .■' 
In  that  case  I  would  not  even  sleep,  but  go  straight 
from  the  grove  to  the  station." 

"  Capital !  " 

VOL.  I.  —  15 



Although  Vronsky's  inner  life  was  wholly  absorbed 
by  his  passion,  his  outward  life  unchangeably  and  inevi- 
tably ran  along  on  the  former  ordinary  rails  of  his  social 
and  regimental  ties  and  interests.  His  regiment  filled 
an  important  part  in  his  life,  in  the  first  place  because 
he  loved  his  regiment,  and,  still  more,  because  he  was 
extremely  popular  in  it.  In  his  regiment  he  was  not 
only  admired,  but  he  was  also  respected.  They  were 
proud  of  him,  proud  that  a  man  enormously  rich,  with 
a  fine  education  and  with  qualities,  with  a  path  open 
before  him  to  every  kind  of  success  and  ambition  and 
glorification,  scorned  all  that,  and  placed  the  interests  of 
his  regiment  and  his  comrades  above  all  the  interests  of 
life.  Vronksy  recognized  the  feeling  which  he  inspired, 
and,  besides  the  fact  that  he  loved  that  life,  he  felt  called 
on,  in  a  certain  degree,  to  sustain  his  character. 

Of  course  he  spoke  to  no  one  of  his  passion.  Never 
did  an  imprudent  word  escape  him,  even  when  he  joined 
his  comrades  in  the  liveliest  of  drinking-bouts,  —  how- 
ever, he  was  never  so  intoxicated  as  to  lose  control  over 
himself,  —  and  he  kept  his  mouth  shut  in  the  presence 
of  those  gossiping  meddlers  who  made  the  least  allusion 
to  the  affairs  of  his  heart.  Nevertheless,  his  passion 
was  a  matter  of  notoriety  throughout  the  city ;  all  had 
more  or  less  well-founded  suspicions  of  his  relationship 
to  Madame  Karenin,  and  most  of  the  young  men  envied 
him  on  account  of  the  very  thing  that  was  the  greatest 
drawback  to  his  love,  —  Karenin's  high  station,  which 
made  the  matter  more  conspicuous. 

The  majority  of  young  women,  jealous  of  Anna, 
whom  they  were  weary  of  hearing  always  called  the  just, 
were  not  sorry  to  have  their  predictions  verified,  and 
were  waiting  only  for  the  sanction  of  public  opinion,  to 
overwhelm  her  with  the  whole  weight  of  their  scorn  ; 
they  had  already  prepared  for  use  the  mud  which  should 
be  thrown  at  her  when  the  time  should  come.  Most 
people  of  experience,  and  those  of  high  rank,  were  dis- 


pleased  at  the  prospect  of  a  disgraceful  scandal  in 

Vronsky's  mother,  when  she  heard  of  the  liaison,  at 
first  was  glad ;  because,  in  her  opinion,  nothing  gave 
the  last  finish  to  a  brilliant  young  man  compared  to  an 
intrigue  in  high  life ;  and  because  she  was  not  sorry  to 
find  that  this  Madame  Karenin,  who  had  pleased  her  so 
much  and  who  seemed  so  entirely  devoted  to  her  boy, 
was,  after  all,  only  like  any  other  handsome  and  elegant 
woman.  But  later  she  learned  that  her  son  had  refused 
an  important  promotion,  for  no  other  reason  than  that 
he  might  stay  with  his  regiment  and  keep  on  visiting 
Madame  Karenin,  and  she  learned  that,  on  account  of 
this,  persons  very  high  in  authority  were  dissatisfied 
with  him,  and  she  changed  her  opinion  in  regard  to  it. 

There  was  another  reason  why  she  did  not  now  ap- 
prove of  it :  from  all  she  could  learn  of  this  liaison,  it 
was  not  the  brilliant  and  fashionable  flirtation,  such  as 
she  approved,  but  a  desperate  tragedy,  after  the  style  of 
Werther,  according  to  report,  and  she  was  afraid  lest 
her  son  should  be  drawn  into  some  folly.  Since  his  un- 
expected departure  from  Moscow  she  had  not  seen  him, 
but  she  sent  word  to  him,  through  his  elder  brother,  that 
she  desired  him  to  come  to  her.  His  elder  brother  was 
even  more  dissatisfied,  not  because  he  felt  anxious  to 
know  whether  this  love-affair  was  to  be  deep  or  epheme- 
ral, passionate  or  Platonic,  innocent  or  guilty,  —  he 
himself,  though  a  married  man  and  the  father  of  a 
family,  had  a  ballet  dancer  for  a  mistress,  and  therefore 
had  no  right  to  be  severe, — but  because  he  knew  that 
this  love-affair  was  displeasing  in  quarters  where  it  was 
better  to  be  on  good  terms  ;  and  therefore  he  blamed 
his  brother's  conduct. 

Vronsky,  besides  his  society  relations  and  his  military 
duties,  had  yet  another  absorbing  passion,  —  horses. 
The  officers'  handicap  races  were  to  take  place  this 
summer.  He  became  a  subscriber,  and  bought  a  pure- 
blood  English  trotter;  and  in  spite  of  his  love-affair,  he 
was  passionately  though  discreetly  interested  in  the 
results  of  the  races 


These  two  passions  did  not  interfere  with  each  other. 
On  the  contrary,  he  needed  something  independent  of 
his  love-affair,  some  occupation  and  interest  in  which 
he  could  find  refreshment  and  recreation  after  the  over- 
violent  emotions  which  stirred  him. 


On  the  day  of  the  Krasno-Sielo  races,  Vronsky  came 
earlier  than  usual  to  eat  a  beefsteak  in  the  officers'  com- 
mon dining-hall.  He  was  not  at  all  constrained  to  limit 
himself,  since  his  weight  satisfied  the  i6o  pounds  ^  re- 
quired ;  but  he  did  not  want  to  get  fat,  and  so  he 
refrained  from  sweet  and  farinaceous  foods.  He  sat 
down  with  his  coat  unbuttoned  over  his  white  waistcoat, 
and  with  both  elbows  resting  on  the  table;  while  he  was 
waiting  for  his  beefsteak  he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  pages 
of  a  French  novel  which  lay  on  the  plate.  He  looked 
at  his  book  only  so  as  not  to  talk  with  the  officers  as 
they  went  and  came,  but  he  was  thinking. 

He  was  thinking  how  Anna  had  promised  to  meet 
him  after  the  races.  But  he  had  not  seen  her  for  three 
days ;  and  he  was  wondering  if  she  would  be  able  to 
keep  her  appointment,  as  her  husband  had  just  returned 
to  Petersburg  from  a  journey  abroad,  and*  he  was  won- 
dering how  he  could  find  out.  They  had  met  for  the 
last  time  at  his  cousin  Betsy's  datcha,  or  country-house. 
For  he  went  to  the  Karenins'  datcha  as  little  as  possi- 
ble, and  now  he  wanted  to  go  there,  and  he  was  asking 
himself,  "  How  can  it  be  managed  }  " 

"  Of  course,  I  will  say  that  I  am  charged  by  Betsy  to 
find  whether  she  expects  to  attend  the  races,  —  yes, 
certainly,  I  will  go,"  he  said,  raising  his  head  from  his 
book.  And  his  face  shone  with  the  joy  caused  by  his 
imagination  of  the  forthcoming  interview. 

"  Send  word  that  I  wish  my  carriage  and  troika  har- 
nessed and  brought  round,"  said  he  to  the  waiter  who 

^  Four  and  a  half  pud  :  a /Wis  36. 1 1  pounds  avoirdupois. 


was  bringing  his  beefsteak  on  a  hot  silver  platter. 
Moving  the  platter  toward  him,  he  began  his  meal. 

In  the  adjoining  billiard-room  the  clicking  of  balls 
was  heard,  and  two  voices  talking  and  laughing.  Two 
officers  appeared  in  the  door :  one  of  them  was  a  young 
man  with  delicate,  refined  features,  who  had  just  gradu- 
ated from  the  Corps  of  Pages  and  joined  the  regiment ; 
the  other  was  old  and  fat,  with  little,  moist  eyes,  and 
wore  a  bracelet  on  his  wrist. 

Vronsky  glanced  at  them  and  frowned,  and  went  on 
eating  and  reading  at  the  same  time,  as  if  he  had  not 
seen  them. 

"  Getting  ready  for  work,  are  you  ? "  asked  the  fat 
ofificer,  sitting  down  near  him. 

"You  see  I  am,"  replied  Vronsky,  wiping  his  lips, 
and  frowning  again,  without  looking  up. 

"But  aren't  you  afraid  of  getting  fat.-*"  continued 
the  elderly  officer,  pulling  up  a  chair  for  his  junior. 

"  What !  "  cried  Vronsky,  making  a  grimace  to  express 
his  disgust  and  aversion,  and  showing  his  splendid  teeth. 

"  Are  n't  you  afraid  of  getting  fat .''  " 

"Waiter,  sherry!"  cried  Vronsky,  without  replying, 
and  he  changed  his  book  to  the  other  side  of  his  plate, 
and  continued  to  read. 

The  fat  officer  took  the  wine-list,  and  passed  it  over 
to  the  young  officer. 

"  You  select  what  we  '11  have  to  drink,"  said  he,  giv- 
ing him  the  list  and  looking  at  him. 

"  Rhine  wine,  if  you  please,"  replied  the  young  officer, 
looking  timidly  at  Vronsky  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye 
and  trying  to  twist  his  imaginary  mustache. 

When  he  saw  that  Vronsky  did  not  turn,  the  young 
officer  got  up  and  said,  "  Let  us  go  into  the  billiard- 

The  fat  officer  humbly  arose,  and  the  two  went  out  of 
the  door. 

At  the  same  time  a  tall,  stately  cavalry  captain,  named 
Yashvin,  came  in.  He  condescendingly  and  disdain- 
fully nodded  to  the  two  officers,  and  went  toward 


"Ah  !  here  he  is,"  he  cried,  laying  his  heavy  hand  on 
Vronsky's  shoulder.  Vronsky  turned  round  angrily, 
but  in  an  instant  a  pleasant,  friendly  expression  came 
into  his  face. 

"  Well,  Alyosha ! "  said  the  cavalry  captain,  in  his  big 
baritone.  "  Have  something  more  to  eat,  and  drink 
one  more  glass  with  me." 

"  No  ;  I  don't  want  anything  more  to  eat." 

"Those  are  inseparables,"  said  Yashvin,  looking 
derisively  at  the  two  officers  as  they  disappeared. 
Then  he  sat  down,  doubling  up  under  the  chair,  which 
was  too  short  for  him,  his  long  legs  dressed  in  tight 
uniform  trousers.  "  Why  were  n't  you  at  the  Krasmen- 
sky  theater  last  evening  ?  Numerova  was  not  bad  at 
all.     Where  were  you  .-*  " 

"I  stayed  too  late  at  the  TverskoYs',"  said  Vronsky. 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Yashvin. 

Yashvin,  a  gambler,  a  debauchee,  was  Vronsky's  best 
friend  in  the  regiment.  It  could  not  be  said  of  him 
that  he  lacked  principles.  He  had  principles,  but  they 
were  immoral  ones.  Vronsky  liked  him,  both  for  his 
exceptional  physical  vigor,  which  allowed  him  to  drink 
like  a  hogshead  and  not  feel  it,  and  to  do  absolutely 
without  sleep  if  it  were  necessary,  and  also  for  his  great 
social  ability,  which  he  employed  in  his  relations  to  his 
superiors,  and  his  comrades,  attracting  to  himself  their 
love  and  respect ;  and  also  in  gambling,  at  which  he 
risked  tens  of  thousands,  and  always,  no  matter  how 
much  he  had  been  drinking,  played  so  cleverly  and 
daringly  that  he  was  regarded  as  the  leading  gambler 
at  the  English  Club. 

Vronsky  felt  friendship  and  consideration  for  him, 
because  he  felt  that  Yashvin  liked  him,  not  for  his  for- 
tune or  his  social  position,  but  chiefly  on  his  own  account. 
Moreover,  Yashvin  was  the  only  man  to  whom  Vronsky 
would  have  been  willing  to  speak  of  his  love.  He  felt 
that,  in  spite  of  his  affected  scorn  for  all  kinds  of  senti- 
ment, he  alone  could  appreciate  the  serious  passion 
which  now  absorbed  his  whole  life.  Besides,  he  was 
persuaded    that    he    found    absolutely    no   pleasure   in 


tittle-tattle  and  scandal,  but  considered  this  feeling  as 
essential,  in  other  words,  that  he  knew  and  believed 
that  love  was  no  joke,  no  mere  pastime,  but  something 
serious  and  important.  Thus,  taken  all  in  all,  his  pres- 
ence was  always  agreeable  to  him. 

Vronsky  had  not  yet  spoken  to  him  about  his  love, 
but  he  knew  that  Yashvin  knew  it  — looked  on  it  in  its 
true  light ;  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  read  this  in  his  eyes. 

"  Ah,  yes  ! "  said  the  cavalry  captain,  when  he  heard 
the  name  of  the  Tverskois  ;  and,  flashing  his  brilliant 
black  eyes  at  him,  he  seized  his  left  mustache  and  began 
to  cram  it  into  his  mouth,  for  this  was  a  bad  habit  of 

"  And  what  did  you  do  last  evening  .?  Did  you  gain  .■* " 
asked  Vronsky. 

"  Eight  thousand  rubles,  but  three  thousand  possibly 
are  no  good  —  I  may  not  get  them." 

"  Well !  Then  you  may  lose  on  me,"  said  Vronsky, 
laughing  ;  Yashvin  had  laid  a  large  wager  on  him. 

"But  I  shall  not  lose.  Makhotin  is  the  only  one  to 
be  afraid  of." 

And  the  conversation  went  off  in  regard  to  the  races, 
which  was  the  only  subject  of  which  Vronsky  could  now 

"  Come  on,  I  have  done,"  said  Vronsky,  getting  up 
and  going  to  the  door.  Yashvin  also  arose,  and  stretched 
his  huge  legs  and  long  back. 

"  I  can't  dine  so  early,  but  I  will  take  something  to 
drink.  I  will  follow  you  immediately.  Here,  wine!" 
he  cried,  in  his  heavy  voice,  which  was  the  wonder  of 
the  regiment ;  it  made  the  windows  rattle.'  "  No,  no 
matter!  "  he  cried  again  ;  "if  you  are  going  home,  I  '11 
join  you." 

And  he  went  off  with  Vronsky 



Vronsky  was  lodging  in  a  neat  and  spacious  Finnish 
izba,  divided  in  two  by  a  partition.  Petritsky  was  his 
chum,  not  only  in  Petersburg,  but  here  also  in  camp. 
He  was  asleep  when  Vronsky  and  Yashvin  entered. 

"Get  up!  you've  slept  long  enough,"  said  Yashvin, 
going  behind  the  partition,  and  shaking  the  sleeper's 
shoulder,  as  he  lay  with  his  nose  buried  in  the  pillow. 

Petritsky  suddenly  got  up  on  his  knees,  and  looked 
all  about  him. 

"Your  brother  has  been  here,"  said  he  to  Vronsky. 
"  He  woke  me  up,  the  devil  take  him  !  and  he  said  that 
he  would  come  again." 

Then  he  threw  himself  back  on  the  pillow  again,  and 
pulled  up  the  bedclothes. 

"Stop!  Yashvin,"  he  cried  angrily,  as  his  comrade 
twitched  off  his  quilt.  Then  he  turned  over,  opened  his 
eyes,  and  said,  "  You  would  do  much  better  to  tell  me 
what  I  ought  to  drink  to  take  this  bad  taste  out  of  my 

"Vodka  is  better  than  anything,"  said  Yashvin. 
"Tereshchenko !  Bring  the  barin  some  vodka  and 
cucumbers,"  he  cried,  delighting  in  the  thunder  of  his 
voict^.    • "    ■ 

"  You  advise  vodka  ?  ha  !  "  exclaimed  Petritsky,  scowl- 
ing, and  rubbing  his  eyes.  "Will  you  take  some,  too.? 
If  you  '11  join,  all  right !  Vronsky,  will  you  have  a 
drink  .■• "  said  Petritsky,  getting  up  and  wrapping  a 
striped  quilt  around  him  under  his  arms.  He  came  to 
the  door  of  the  partition,  raised  his  arms  in  the  air,  and 
began  to  sing  in  French,  "'There  was  a  king  in  Thu- 
u-le.'  —  Vronsky,  will  you  have  a  drink.?" 

"  Go  away,"  replied  the  latter,  who  was  putting  on 
an  overcoat  brought  him  by  his  valet. 

"  Where  are  you  going .? "  asked  Yashvin,  seeing  a 
carriage  drawn  by  three  horses.     "Here's  the  troika." 

"To  the  stables,  then  to  Briansky's  to  see  about 
some  horses,"  replied  Vronsky. 


Vronsky  had,  indeed,  promised  to  bring  some  money 
to  Briansky,  who  lived  about  ten  versts  from  Peterhof ; 
and  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  there  as  soon  as  possible 
so  as  to  pay  for  the  horses,  but  his  friends  immediately 
understood  that  he  was  also  going  somewhere  else. 

Petritsky,  who  kept  on  singing,  winked,  and  pursed 
his  lips  as  if  he  would  say,  "  We  know  who  this  Brian- 
sky  means." 

"  See  here,  don't  be  late,"  said  Yashvin  ;  and,  chang- 
ing the  subject,  "And  my  roan,  does  she  suit  you?" 
he  asked,  looking  out  of  the  window,  and  referring  to 
the  middle  horse  of  the  team  which  he  had  .sold. 

Just  as  Vronsky  left  the  room,  Petritsky  called  out 
to  him,  "  Hold  on  !  your  brother  left  a  note  and  a  letter. 
Hold  on  !  where  did  I  put  them .-' " 

Vronsky  waited  impatiently. 

"  Well,  where  are  they  ? " 

"  Where  are  they  indeed  ?  That 's  the  question," 
declaimed  Petritsky,  solemnly,  putting  his  forefinger 
above  his  nose. 

"  Speak  quick  !  no  nonsense !  "  said  Vronsky,  smiling. 

"  I  have  not  had  any  fire  in  the  fireplace  ;  where  can 
I  have  put  them  .-* " 

"Come  now,  that's  enough  talk!  where 's  the  letter?" 

"  I  swear  I  have  forgotten  ;  or  did  I  dream  about  it  ? 
Wait,  wait !  don't  get  angry.  If  you  had  drunk  four 
bottles,  as  I  did  yesterday,  you  would  n't  even  know 
where  you  went  to  bed.  Hold  on,  I  '11  think  in  a  min- 

Petritsky  went  behind  his  screen  again,  and  got  into 

"  Hold  on  !  I  was  lying  here.  He  stood  there.  Da- 
da-da-da  I ....  Here  it  is  !  " 

And  he  pulled  the  letter  out  from  under  the  mattress, 
where  he  had  put  it. 

Vronsky  took  the  letter  and  his  brother's  note.  It 
was  exactly  as  he  expected.  His  mother  reproached 
him  because  he  had  not  been  to  see  her,  and  his  brother 
said  he  had  something  to  speak  to  him  about.  "  What 
concern  is  it  of  theirs  ? "  he  muttered  ;  and,  crumpling 


up  the  notes,  he  thrust  them  between  his  coat-buttons, 
intending  to  read  them  more  carefully  on  the  way. 

Just  as  he  left  the  izba,  he  met  two  officers,  one  of 
whom  belonged  to  a  different  regiment.  Vronsky's 
quarters  were  always  the  headquarters  of  all  the  offi- 

"Whither  away.?" 

"Must  —  to  Peterhof." 

"  Has  your  horse  come  from  Tsarskoye  .-' " 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  not  seen  her  yet." 

"They  say  Makhotin's  'Gladiator'  is  lame." 

"  Rubbislj !  But  how  can  you  trot  in  such  mud  ? " 
said  the  other. 

"  Here  are  my  saviors,"  cried  Petritsky,  as  he  saw 
the  newcomers.  The  denshchik  was  standing  before 
him  with  vodka  and  salted  cucumbers  on  a  platter. 
"Yashvin,  here,  ordered  me  to  drink,  so  as  to  clear  my 

"  Well,  you  were  too  much  for  us  last  night,"  said 
one  of  the  officers.     "You  did  not  let  us  sleep  all  night." 

"I  must  tell  you  how  we  ended  it,"  began  Petritsky. 
"  Volkof  climbed  up  on  the  roof,  and  told  us  that  he 
was  blue.  I  sung  out,  'Give  us  some  music, — a  fu- 
neral march.'  And  he  went  to  sleep  on  the  roof  to  the 
music  of  the  funeral  march." 

"  Drink,  drink  your  vodka  by  all  means,  and  then 
take  seltzer  and  a  lot  of  lemon,"  said  Yashvin,  encour- 
aging Petritsky  as  a  mother  encourages  her  child  to 
swallow  some  medicine.     "It  is  only  a  little  bottle." 

"  Now,  this  is  sense.  Hold  on,  Vronsky,  and  have  a 
drink  with  us  !  " 

"  No.  Good-by,  gentlemen.  I  am  not  drinking  to- 

.     "Vronsky,"  cried  some  one,  after  he  had  gone  into 
the  vestibule. 


"You'd  better  cut  off  your  hair;  it's  getting  very 
long,  especially  on  the  bald  spot." 

Vronsky,  in  fact,  was  beginning  to  get  a  little  bald. 
He  laughed  gayly,  showing  his  splendid  teeth,  and,  pull- 


ing  his  cap  over  the  bald  spot,  he  went  out  and  got 
into  his  carriage. 

"To  the  stables,"  he  said. 

He  started  to  take  his  letters  for  a  second  reading, 
but  on  second  thought  deferred  them  so  that  he  might 
think  of  nothing  else  but  his  horse. 

"I'll  wait." 


A  TEMPORARY  Stable,  —  a  balagan,  or  hut,  —  made  out 
of  planks,  had  been  built  near  the  race-course ;  and  here 
Vronsky's  horse  should  have  been  brought  the  evening 
before.  He  had  not  as  yet  seen  her.  During  the  last 
few  days  he  himself  had  not  been  out  to  drive,  but  he  had 
intrusted  her  to  the  trainer;  and  Vronsky  did  not  know 
in  what  condition  he  should  find  her.  He  was  just  get- 
ting out  of  his  carriage  when  his  konyukh,  or  groom,  a 
young  fellow,  saw  him  from  a  distance,  and  immediately 
called  the  trainer.  This  was  an  Englishman  with  with- 
ered face  and  tufted  chin,  and  dressed  in  short  jacket 
and  top-boots.  He  came  out  toward  Vronsky  in  the 
mincing  step  peculiar  to  jockeys,  and  with  elbows  stick- 
ing out. 

"Well,  how  is  Frou  Frou  } "  said  Vronsky,  in  English. 

*'  A//  right,  sir"  said  the  Englishman,  in  a  voice  that 
came  out  of  the  bottom  of  his  throat.  "  Better  not  go 
in,  sir,"  he  added,  taking  off  his  hat.  "  I  have  put  a 
muzzle  on  her,  and  that  excites  her.  Better  not  go  in, 
it  excites  a  horse." 

"  No,  I  am  going  in,  I  want  to  see  her." 

"  Come  on,  then,"  replied  the  Englishman,  testily ; 
and,  without  ever  opening  his  mouth,  and  with  his  dandi- 
fied step,  he  led  the  way. 

They  went  into  a  small  yard  in  front  of  the  stable. 
An  active  and  alert  stable-boy  in  a  clean  jacket,  with 
whip  in  hand,  met  them  as  they  entered,  and  followed 
them.  Five  horses  were  in  the  stable,  each  in  its  own 
stall.     Vronsky  knew  that  his  most  redoubtable  rival, — 


Makhotin's  Gladiator,  a  chestnut  horse  five  vershoks 
high,  —  was  there,  and  he  was  more  curious  to  see  Gladia- 
tor than  to  see  his  own  racer ;  but  he  knew  that,  accord- 
ing to  the  etiquette  of  the  races,  he  could  not  have  him 
brought  out,  or  even  ask  questions  about  him.  As  he 
passed  along  the  corridor  the  groom  opened  the  door  of 
the  second  stall  at  the  left,  and  Vronsky  saw  a  powerful 
chestnut  with  white  feet.  He  knew  it  was  Gladiator ; 
but  with  the  delicacy  of  a  man  who  turns  away  from  an 
open  letter  which  is  not  addressed  to  him,  he  instantly 
turned  away  and  walked  toward  Frou  Frou's  stall. 
tii«5«That  horse  belongs  to  Ma,...  k....  mak, ....  I  never 
can  pronounce  his  name,"  said  the  Englishman,  over 
his  shoulder,  and  pointing  to  Gladiator's  stall  with  a 
huge  finger,  the  nail  of  which  was  black  with  dirt. 

"  Makhotin's  ?     Yes  ;  he  is  my  only  dangerous  rival." 

"  If  you  would  mount  him,  I  would  bet  on  you,"  said 
the  Englishman. 

"  Frou  Frou  has  more  nerve,  this  one  stronger," 
said  Vronsky,  smiling  at  the  jockey's  praise. 

"  In  hurdle-races,  all  depends  on  the  mount,  and  on 

Pluck  —  that  is,  audacity  and  coolness  —  Vronsky 
knew  that  he  had  in  abundance ;  and,  what  was  far 
more  important,  he  was  firmly  convinced  that  no  one 
could  have  more  of  this  pluck  than  he  had. 

"  You  are  sure  that  a  good  sweating  was  not  neces- 
sary } " 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  the  Englishman.  "  Please  not 
speak  so  loud,  the  horse  is  restive,"  he  added,  jerking 
his  head  toward  the  closed  stall  in  front  of  which  they 
were  standing.  They  could  hear  the  horse  stamping  on 
the  straw. 

He  opened  the  door,  and  Vronsky  entered  a  box-stall 
feebly  lighted  by  a  little  window.  A  dark  bay  horse, 
muzzled,  was  nervously  prancing  up  and  down  on  the 
fresh  straw.  As  he  gazed  into  the  semi-obscurity  of 
the  stall,  Vronsky  in  spite  of  himself  took  in  at  one  gen- 
eral observation  all  the  points  of  his  favorite  horse. 
Frou  Frou  was  a  horse  of  medium  size,  and  not  faultless 


in  form.  Her  bones  were  slender,  although  her  brisket 
showed  powerfully  ;  her  breast  was  narrow,  the  crupper 
was  rather  tapering ;  and  the  legs,  particularly  the  hind 
legs,  considerably  bowed.  The  muscles  of  the  legs  were 
not  big  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  where  the  saddle  rested 
the  horse  was  extraordinarily  wide,  and  this  was  particu- 
larly striking  by  reason  of  the  firmness  and  the  small- 
ness  of  her  belly.  The  bones  of  the  legs  below  the 
knee  seemed  not  thicker  than  a  finger,  seen  from  the 
front ;  they  were  extraordinarily  large  when  seen  side- 
wise.  The  whole  steed,  with  the  exception  of  the  ribs, 
seemed  squeezed  in  and  lengthened  out.  But  she  had 
one  merit  that  outweighed  all  her  faults :  she  was  a 
thoroughbred,  had  good  blood,  —  whifh  tells,  as  the 
English  say.  Her  muscles,  standing  out  under  a  net- 
work of  veins,  covered  with  a  skin  as  smooth  and  soft 
as  satin,  seemed  as  solid  as  bone  ;  her  slender  head,  with 
prominent  eyes,  bright  and  animated,  widened  out  at 
the  septum  into  projecting  nostrils  with  membrane 
which  seemed  suffused  with  blood.  In  her  whole  form 
and  especially  in  her  head  there  was  an  expression  of 
something  energetic  and  decided,  and  at  the  same  time 
good-tempered.  It  was  one  of  those  creatures  which 
do  not  speak  for  the  single  reason  that  the  mechanical 
construction  of  their  mouths  does  not  permit  of  it. 

Vronsky,  at  any  rate,  was  convinced  that  she  under- 
stood all  of  his  thoughts  while  he  was  looking  at  her. 
As  soon  as  he  went  to  her  she  began  to  take  long 
breaths,  and,  turning  her  prominent  eyes  so  that  the 
whites  became  suffused  with  blood,  she  gazed  from  the 
opposite  side  at  the  visitors,  trying  to  shake  off  her 
muzzle,  and  dancing  on  her  feet  with  elastic  motion. 

"  You  see  how  excited  she  is,"  said  the  English- 

"  Whoa,  my  loveliest,  whoa  !  "  said  Vronsky,  approach- 
ing to  soothe  her  ;  but  the  nearer  he  came  the  more  ner- 
vous she  grew,  and  only  when  he  had  caressed  her  head 
did  she  become  tranquil.  He  could  feel  her  muscles 
strain  and  tremble  under  her  delicate,  smooth  skin. 
Vronsky   smoothed   her   powerful   neck,  and  put  into 


place  a  tuft  of  her  mane  that  she  had  tossed  on  the 
other  side  ;  and  then  he  put  his  face  close  to  her  nos- 
trils, which  swelled  and  dilated  like  the  wings  of  a  bat. 
She  drew  in  the  air,  and  loudly  expelled  it  from  her 
quivering  nostrils,  pricked  up  her  sharp  ears,  and 
stretched  out  her  long  black  lips  to  seize  his  sleeve  ; 
but,  when  she  found  herself  prevented  by  her  muzzle, 
she  shook  it,  and  began  to  caper  again  on  her  slender 

"Quiet,  my  beauty,  quiet,"  said  Vronsky,  calming 
her ;  and  he  left  the  stable  with  the  reassuring  convic- 
tion that  his  horse  was  in  perfect  condition. 

But  the  nervousness  of  the  steed  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  Vronsky ;  he  felt  the  blood  rush  to  his  heart, 
and,  like  the  horse,  he  wanted  violent  action  ;  he  felt 
like  prancing  and  biting.  It  was  a  sensation  at  once 
strange  and  joyful. 

"Well,  I  count  on  you,"  said  he  to  the  Englishman. 
"  Be  on  the  grounds  at  half-past  six." 

"  All  shall  be  ready.  But  where  are  you  going,  my 
lord.!*"  asked  the  Englishman,  using  the  title  of  "my 
lord,"  which  he  almost  never  permitted  himself  to  use. 

Astonished  at  this,  Vronsky  raised  his  head,  and 
looked  at  him  as  he  well  understood  how  to  do,  not 
into  the  Englishman's  eyes,  but  at  his  forehead.  He 
instantly  saw  that  the  Englishman  had  spoken  to  him, 
not  as  to  his  master,  but  as  to  a  jockey ;  and  he  replied :  — 

"  I  have  got  to  see  Briansky,  and  I  shall  be  at  home 
in  an  hour." 

"  How  many  times  have  I  been  asked  that  question 
to-day ! "  he  said  to  himself ;  and  he  grew  red,  which 
was  a  rare  occurrence  with  him.  The  Englishman 
looked  at  him  closely.  And,  as  if  he  also  knew  where 
Vronsky  was  going,  he  said  :  — 

"The  main  thing  is  to  keep  calm  before  the  race. 
Don't  get  out  of  sorts ;  don't  get  bothered." 

''All  right,"  replied  Vronsky,  with  a  smile  ;  and,  jump- 
ing into  his  carriage,  he  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive 
to  Peterhof. 

He  had  gone  but  a  short  distance  before  the  clouds, 


which  since  morning  had  been  threatening  rain,  grew 
thicker,  and  a  heavy  shower  fell. 

"Too  bad!"  thought  Vronsky,  raising  the  hood  of 
his  carriage.  "  It  has  been  muddy ;  now  it  will  be  a 

Now  that  he  was  sitting  alone  in  his  covered  calash, 
he  took  out  his  mother's  letter  and  his  brother's  note, 
and  read  them  over. 

Yes,  it  was  always  the  old  story ;  both  his  mother 
and  his  brother  found  it  necessary  to  meddle  with  his 
love-affairs.  This  interference  aroused  his  anger, —  a 
feeling  which  he  rarely  experienced. 

"  How  does  this  concern  them .-'  Why  does  every 
one  feel  called  on  to  meddle  with  me,  and  why  do  they 
bother  me  .-*  Because  they  see  that  there  is  something 
about  this  that  they  can't  understand.  If  it  were  an 
ordinary  vulgar  society  intrigue,  they  would  leave  me 
in  peace  ;  but  they  imagine  that  it  is  something  else, 
that  it  is  not  mere  trifling,  that  this  woman  is  dearer 
to  me  than  life  ;  that  is  incredible  and  vexatious  to 
them.  Whatever  be  our  fate,  we  ourselves  have  made 
it,  and  we  shall  not  regret  it,"  he  said  to  himself,  in- 
cluding Anna  in  the  word  "we."  "But  no,  they  want 
to  teach  us  how  to  live.  They  have  no  idea  of  what 
happiness  is.  They  don't  know  that,  were  it  not  for 
this  love,  there  would  be  for  us  neither  joy  nor  grief  in 
this  world  ;  life  itself  would  not  exist." 

In  reality,  what  exasperated  him  most  against  every 
one  was  the  fact  that  his  conscience  told  him  that  they 
—  all  of  them  —  were  right.  He  felt  that  his  love  for 
Anna  was  not  a  superficial  impulse,  destined,  like  so 
many  social  attachments,  to  disappear,  and  leave  no  trace 
beyond  sweet  or  painful  memories.  He  felt  keenly  all 
the  torture  of  her  situation  and  his,  and  how  difficult 
it  was  in  the  prominent  position  which  they  held  in  the 
eyes  of  society  to  hide  their  love,  to  lie,  to  deceive, 
to  dissemble,  and  constantly  to  think  about  others,  when 
the  passion  uniting  them  was  so  violent  that  they  both 
forgot  about  everything  else  except  their  love. 

He  vividly  pictured  to  himself  all  the  constantly  re- 


curring  circumstances  when  it  was  essential  to  employ 
falsehood  and  deceit,  which  were  so  contrary  to  his 
nature.  He  recalled  with  especial  vividness  the  feel- 
ing of  shame  which  he  had  often  surprised  in  Anna, 
when  she  also  was  driven  to  tell  a  lie. 

Since  this  affair  with  her,  he  sometimes  experienced 
a  strange  sensation.  This  was  a  feeling  of  disgust  and 
repulsion  for  some  one,  he  could  not  tell  for  whom  he 
felt  it — for  Alekseif  Aleksandrovitch  or  himself,  or  for 
all  society.  As  far  as  possible  he  banished  this  strange 

"  Yes,  heretofore  she  has  been  unhappy,  but  proud 
and  calm  ;  now  she  cannot  be  proud  and  content  any 
longer,  though  she  may  not  betray  the  fact.  Yes,  this 
must  end,"  he  would  conclude  in  his  own  mind. 

And  for  the  first  time  the  thought  of  cutting  short 
this  life  of  dissimulation  appeared  to  him  clear  and  tan- 
gible ;  the  sooner,  the  better. 

"  She  and  I  must  leave  everything,  and  together  we 
must  go  and  hide  ourselves  somewhere  with  our  love," 
he  said  to  himself. 


The  shower  was  of  short  duration  ;  and  when  Vronsky 
reached  Peterhof,  his  shaft-horse  at  full  trot,  and  the 
other  two  galloping  along  in  the  mud,  the  sun  was 
already  out  again,  and  the  wet  roofs  of  the  villas  and 
the  old  lindens  in  the  gardens  on  both  sides  of  the  prin- 
cipal avenue  were  dazzlingly  shining.  The  water  was 
running  from  the  roofs,  and  the  raindrops  were  drip- 
ping from  the  tree-tops.  He  no  longer  thought  of  the 
harm  that  the  shower  might  do  the  race-course,  but  he 
was  full  of  joy  as  he  remembered  that,  thanks  to  the 
rain,  she  would  be  alone ;  for  he  knew  that  Alekseif 
Aleksandrovitch,  who  had  just  got  back  from  a  visit  to 
the  baths,  would  not  have  driven  out  from  Petersburg. 

Hoping  to  find  her  alone,  Vronsky  stopped  his  horses, 
as  he  always  did,  at  some  little  distance  from  the  house, 


.n  order  to  attract  as  little  attention  as  possible,  and,  not 
driving  across  the  little  bridge,  got  out  and  went  to  the 
house  on  foot.  He  did  not  go  to  the  front  entrance, 
but  went  through  the  court. 

"  Has  the  barin  come.''"  he  asked  of  a  gardener. 

"Not  yet;  but  the  baruinya  is  at  home.  Go  to  the 
front  door ;  there  are  servants  there ;  if  you  ring,  they 
will  open  the  door." 

"  No  ;  I  will  go  in  through  the  garden." 

Having  satisfied  himself  that  she  was  alone,  and  wish- 
ing to  surprise  her,  as  he  had  not  promised  that  he  was 
coming  that  day,  and  on  account  of  the  races  she  would 
not  be  looking  for  him,  he  walked  cautiously  along  the 
sandy  paths,  bordered  with  flowers,  lifting  up  his  saber 
so  that  it  should  make  no  noise.  In  this  way  he  reached 
the  terrace  which  led  down  to  the  garden.  Vronsky  had 
by  this  time  forgotten  all  the  thoughts  which  had  op- 
pressed him  on  the  way  about  the  difficulties  of  his  situ- 
ation ;  he  thought  only  of  the  pleasure  of  shortly  seeing 
her,  not  in  imagination  only,  but  alive,  in  person,  as  she 
was  in  reality. 

He  was  mounting-  the  steep  steps  as  gently  as  possi- 
ble, when  he  suddenly  remembered  what  he  was  always 
forgetting,  and  what  constituted  the  most  painful  fea- 
ture of  his  relations  with  her,  —  her  son,  with  his  inquisi- 
tive and,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  repulsive  face. 

This  child  was  the  principal  obstacle  in  the  way  of 
their  interviews.  When  he  was  present  neither  Vron- 
sky nor  Anna  allowed  themselves  to  speak  of  anything 
which  the  whole  world  might  not  hear,  nor,  what  was 
more,  did  they  even  hint  at  anything  which  the  child 
himself  could  not  comprehend.  There  was  no  need  of  an 
agreement  on  that  score,  it  was  instinctive  with  them. 
Both  of  them  considered  it  degrading  to  themselves  to  de- 
ceive the  little  lad  ;  before  him  they  talked  as  if  they  were 
mere  acquaintances.  But  in  spite  of  this  circumspection 
Vronsky  often  noticed  the  lad's  scrutinizing  and  rather 
suspicious  eyes  fixed  on  him,  and  a  strange  timidity  and 
variability  in  his  behavior  toward  him.  Sometimes  he 
seemed  affectionate,  and  then  again  cold  and  shy.     The 

VOL.  I. — 16 


child  seemed  instinctively  to  feel  that  between  this  man 
and  his  mother  there  was  some  strange  bond  of  union, 
which  was  beyond  his  comprehension. 

In  fact,  the  boy  felt  that  he  could  not  understand  this 
relationship,  and  he  tried  in  vain  to  account  to  himself 
for  the  feeling  which  he  ought  to  have  for  this  man. 
He  saw,  with  that  quick  intuition  peculiar  to  childhood, 
that  his  father,  his  governess,  and  his  nurse  —  all  of 
them  — not  only  did  not  like  Vronsky,  but  looked  with  the 
utmost  disfavor  on  him,  although  they  never  spoke  about 
him,  while  his  mother  treated  him  as  her  best  friend. 

"  What  does  this  mean  .-*  Who  is  he  .■'  Must  I  love 
him  ?  and  is  it  my  fault,  and  am  I  a  naughty  or  stupid 
child,  if  I  don't  understand  it  at  all  ? "  thought  the  little 
fellow.  Hence  came  his  timidity,  his  questioning  and 
distrustful  manner,  and  this  changeableness,  which  were 
so  unpleasant  to  Vronsky,  The  presence  of  this  child 
always  caused  in  Vronsky  that  strange  feeling  of  unrea- 
sonable repulsion  which  for  some  time  had  pursued  him. 

The  presence  of  the  child  aroused  in  Vronsky  and 
Anna  a  feeling  like  that  experienced  by  a  mariner  who 
sees  by  the  compass  that  the  course  in  which  he  is 
swiftly  moving  is  widely  different  from  what  it  should 
be,  but  that  to  stop  this  course  is  not  in  his  power ;  that 
every  instant  carries  him  farther  and  farther  in  the  wrong 
direction,  and  the  recognition  of  the  movement  that 
carries  him  from  the  right  course  is  the  recognition  of 
the  ruin  that  impends. 

This  child  with  his  innocent  views  of  life  was  the 
compass  which  pointed  out  to  them  the  degree  of  their 
deviation  from  what  they  knew  but  wished  not  to  know. 

This  day  Serozha  was  not  at  home  and  Anna  was  en- 
tirely alone,  and  sitting  on  the  terrace  waiting  for  the 
return  of  her  son,  who  had  gone  out  to  walk  and  got 
caught  in  the  rain.  She  had  sent  a  man  and  a  maid  to 
find  him,  and  was  sitting  there  till  he  should  return. 
Dressed  in  a  white  gown  with  wide  embroidery,  she 
was  sitting  at  one  corner  of  the  terrace,  concealed  "by 
plants  and  flowers,  and  she  did  not  hear  Vronsky's  step. 
With  her  dark  curly  head  bent,  she  was  pressing  her 


heated  brow  against  a  cool  watering-pot,  standing  on 
the  balustrade,  and  with  both  her  beautiful  hands  laden 
with  rings,  which  he  knew  so  well,  she  was  holding  the 
watering-pot.  The  beauty  of  her  figure,  her  head,  her 
neck,  her  hands,  always  caused  in  Vronsky  a  new  feeling 
of  surprise.  He  stopped  and  looked  at  her  in  ecstasy. 
But  as  soon  as  he  proceeded  to  take  another  step  and 
come  nearer  to  her,  she  felt  his  approach,  pushed  away 
the  watering-pot,  and  turned  to  him  her  glowing  face. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you  ill  ? "  said  he,  in 
French,  as  he  approached  her.  He  felt  a  desire  to  run 
to  her,  but,  remembering  that  there  might  be  witnesses, 
he  looked  toward  the  balcony  door  and  turned  red,  as 
he  always  turned  red  when  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  himself  and  dread  to  be  seen. 

"No;  I  am  well,"  said  Anna,  rising,  and  warmly 
pressing  the  hand  that  he  offered  her.  "  I  did  not  ex- 
pect ....  you." 

"  Bozhe  mof !  how  cold  your  hands  are  ! " 

"  You  startled  me,"  said  she.  "  I  was  alone,  waiting 
for  Serozha.  He  went  out  for  a  walk ;  they  will  come 
back  this  way." 

But  though  she  tried  to  be  calm,  her  lips  trembled. 

"  Forgive  me  for  coming,  but  I  could  not  let  the  day 
go  by  without  seeing  you,"  he  continued,  in  French,  as 
he  always  spoke,  thus  avoiding  the  impossible  vtn,  you, 
and  the  dangerous  tid,  thou,  of  the  Russian. 

"  What  have  I  to  forgive  ?     I  am  so  glad  !  " 

"  But  you  are  ill,  or  sad  .-*  "  said  he,  bending  over  her 
and  still  holding  her  hand.  "  What  were  you  thinking 
about  ? " 

"  Always  about  one  thing,"  she  replied,  with  a  smile. 

She  told  the  truth.  If  at  any  moment  she  had  been 
asked  what  she  was  thinking  about,  she  could  have 
made  the  infallible  reply,  that  she  was  thinking  about 
one  thing :  her  happiness  and  her  unhappiness.  Just 
as  he  had  surprised  her,  she  was  thinking  about  this : 
she  was  thinking  how  it  was  that  for  some,  for  Betsy, 
for  example,  —  for  she  knew  about  her  love-affair  with 
Tushkievitch,  though   it  was  a  secret  from  society  in 



general,  —  all  this  was  such  a  trifle,  while  for  her  it  was 
so  painful.  To-day  this  thought,  for  various  reasons, 
had  been  particularly  tormenting  her. 

She  asked  him  about  the  races.  He  answered  her, 
and,  seeing  that  she  was  in  a  very  excited  state,  in  order 
to  divert  her  mind,  told  her,  in  the  tone  most  natural, 
about  the  preparation  that  had  been  made. 

"  Shall  I,  or  shall  I  not,  tell  him  ?  "  she  thought,  as 
she  looked  at  his  calm,  affectionate  eyes.  "  He  seems 
so  happy,  he  is  so  interested  in  these  races,  that  he  will 
not  comprehend,  probably,  the  importance  of  what  I 
must  tell  him." 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me  of  what  you  were  think- 
ing when  I  came,"  said  he,  suddenly,  interrupting  the 
course  of  his  narration.      "  Tell  me,  I  beg  of  you  !  " 

She  did  not  reply  ;  but  she  lifted  her  head  a  little, 
and  looked  at  him  questioningly  f rom  her  beautiful  eyes, 
shaded  by  her  long  lashes ;  her  fingers,  playing  with  a 
fallen  leaf,  trembled. 

He  saw  this,  and  his  face  immediately  showed  the 
expression  of  humble  adoration,  of  absolute  devotion, 
which  had  so  won  her, 

"  I  see  that  something  has  happened.  Can  I  be  easy 
for  an  instant  when  I  know  that  you  feel  a  grief  that  I 
do  not  share  .-*  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  speak  !  "  he  in- 
sisted, in  a  caressing  tone. 

"I  shall  never  forgive  him  if  he  does  not  appreciate 
the  importance  of  what  I  have  to  tell  him  ;  better  be 
silent  than  put  him  to  the  proof,"  she  thought,  continu- 
ing to  look  at  him  in  the  same  way,  and  conscious  that 
her  hand,  holding  the  leaf,  trembled  more  and  more 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven  !  "  said  he,  taking  her  hand 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  ? " 

"Yes,  yes,  yes  .... " 

"J^e  suis  enceinte  !  "  she  said,  in  a  low  and  deliberate 

The  leaf  that  she  held  in  her  fingers  trembled  still 
more,  but  she  did  not  take  her  eyes  from  his  face,  for 


she  wished  to  see  how  he  would  receive  what  she 

He  grew  pale,  tried  to  speak,  then  stopped  short, 
dropped  her  hand,  and  hung  his  head. 

"Yes,  he  understands  the  significance  of  this,"  she 
said  to  herself,  and  gratefully  pressed  his  hand. 

But  she  was  mistaken  in  thinking  that  he  appreciated 
the  significance  of  what  she  had  told  him,  as  she,  a 
woman,  did.  On  learning  this,  he  felt  that  he  was 
attacked  with  tenfold  force  by  that  strange  feeling  of 
repulsion  and  horror  which  he  had  already  experienced. 
But  at  the  same  time,  he  realized  that  the  crisis  which 
he  had  expected  was  now  at  hand,  that  it  was  impossible 
longer  to  keep  the  secret  from  the  husband  ;  and  it  was 
important  to  extricate  themselves  as  soon  as  possible 
from  the  unnatural  situation  in  which  they  were  placed. 
Moreover,  her  anguish  communicated  itself  to  him 
physically.  He  looked  at  her  with  humbly  submissive 
eyes,  kissed  her  hand,  arose,  and  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  terrace  without  speaking. 

At  last  he  approached  her,  and  said  in  a  tone  of 
decision :  — 

"Well,"  said  he,  "neither  you  nor  I  have  looked  on 
our  relations  as  a  pastime,  and  now  our  fate  is  decided  ; 
at  last  we  must  put  an  end  to  the  false  situation  in 
which  we  live,"  — and  he  looked  around  him. 

"  Put  an  end  ?  How  put  an  end,  Aleksel  ? "  she  asked 

She  was  calm  now,  and  her  face  beamed  with  a  tender 

"You  must  leave  your  husband  and  unite  your  life 
with  mine." 

"But  aren't  they  already  united.-'"  she  asked,  in 
an  almost  inaudible  voice. 

"  Yes,  but  not  completely,  not  absolutely !  " 

"But  how,  Aleksei'.''  tell  me  how,"  said  she,  with 
a  melancholy  irony  at  the  hopelessness  of  her  situation. 
"  How  is  there  any  escape  from  such  a  position  ?  Am 
I  not  the  wife  of  my  husband }  " 

"  From  any  situation,  however  difficult,  there  is  always 


some  way  of  escape ;  here  we  must  simply  decide.  — 
Anything  is  better  than  the  Hfe  you  are  leading.  How 
well  I  see  how  you  are  tormenting  yourself  about  your 
husband,  your  son,  society,  all !  " 

"Akh  !  only  not  my  husband,"  said  she,  with  a  simple 
smile.  "  I  don't  know  him,  I  don't  think  about  him  ! 
He  is  not." 

"You  speak  insincerely!  I  know  you  ;  you  torment 
yourself  on  his  account  also." 

"Not  even  he  knows ...."  said  she,  and  suddenly  a 
bright  crimson  spread  over  her  face ;  it  colored  her 
cheeks,  brow,  her  neck,  and  tears  of  shame  came  into 
her  eyes. 

*'  Let  us  not  speak  more  of  him." 


Vronsky  had  many  times  tried,  though  not  so  de- 
cidedly as  now,  to  bring  clearly  before  her  mind  their 
position;  and  always  he  had  met  the  same  superficial 
and  frivolous  way  of  looking  at  it,  as  she  now  treated 
his  demand.  Apparently,  there  was  something  in  this 
which  she  was  unwilling  or  unable  to  fathom;  appar- 
ently, as  soon  as  she  began  to  speak  about  it,  she,  the 
real  Anna,  disappeared,  to  give  place  to  a  strange  and 
incomprehensible  woman,  whom  he  did  not  love,  but 
feared,  and  who  was  repulsive  to  him.  To-day  he  was 
bound  to  have  an  absolute  explanation. 

"Whether  he  knows  or  not,"  he  said,  in  a  calm  but 
authoritative  voice,  "  whether  he  knows  or  not,  it  does 
not  concern  us.  We  cannot....  we  cannot  now  continue 
as  we  are." 

"What,  in  your  opinion,  must  we  do  about  it.?"  she 
demanded,  in  the  same  bantering  tone  of  irony.  Though 
she  had  been  so  keenly  apprehensive  that  he  would  not 
receive  her  confidence  with  due  appreciation,  she  was 
now  vexed  that  he  deduced  from  it  the  absolute  neces- 
sity of  energetic  action. 

"Tell  him  all,  and  leave  him." 


"Very  good !  let  us  suppose  I  do  it,"  said  she.  "Do 
you  know  what  the  result  would  be  ?  I  will  tell  you  ;  " 
and  a  wicked  fire  flashed  from  her  eyes,  which  were 
just  now  so  gentle.  "'Oh!  you  love  another,  and 
your  course  with  him  has  been  criviijial,'  "  said  she, 
imitating  her  husband,  and  accenting  the  word  criminal 
in  exactly  his  manner.  " '  I  warned  you  of  the  con- 
sequences which  would  follow  from  the  point  of  view 
of  religion,  of  society,  and  of  the  family.  You  did  not 
listen  to  me ;  now  I  cannot  allow  my  name  to  be  dis- 
honored, and  my  '  "  —  she  was  going  to  say  my  son,  but 
stopped,  for  she  could  not  jest  about  him  —  "  'my  name 
dishonored,'  and  so  on  in  the  same  style,"  she  added. 
"  In  a  word,  he  will  tell  me  with  his  official  manner 
and  with  precision  and  clearness  that  he  cannot  set  me 
free,  but  that  he  will  take  measures  to  avoid  a  scandal. 
And  he  will  do  exactly  as  he  says.  That  is  what  will 
take  place ;  for  he  is  not  a  man,  he  is  a  machine,  and, 
when  he  is  stirred  up,  an  ugly  machine,"  said  she,  call- 
ing to  mind  the  most  trifling  details  in  her  husband's 
face  and  manner  of  speaking,  and  charging  to  him  as  a 
crime  all  the  ill  that  she  could  find  in  him,  and  not 
pardoning  him  at  all  on  account  of  the  terrible  sin  of 
which  she  had  been  guilty  before  him. 

"But,  Anna,"  said  Vronsky,  in  a  persuasive,  tender 
voice,  trying  to  calm  her,  "you  must  tell  him  every- 
thing, and  act  accordingly  as  he  proceeds." 

"What!  elope.?" 

"  Why  not  elope }  I  see  no  possibility  of  living  as 
we  are  any  longer ;  it  is  not  on  my  account,  but  I  see 
you  will  suffer." 

"  What !  elope,  and  become  your  mistress  } "  said  she, 

"  Anna  !  "  he  cried,  deeply  wounded. 

"  Yes,  your  mistress,  and  lose  everything  !  "  .... 

Again  she  was  going  to  say  mj  sou,  but  she  could 
not  pronounce  the  word. 

Vronsky  could  not  understand  how  she,  with  her 
strong,  loyal  nature,  could  accept  the  false  position  in 
which  she  was  placed,  and  not  endeavor  to  escape  from 


it.  But  he  could  not  doubt  that  the  principal  cause 
of  this  was  represented  by  that  word  son,  which  she 
could  not  pronounce. 

When  she  thought  of  her  son  and  his  future  relations 
to  a  mother  who  had  deserted  his  father,  the  horror  of 
what  she  had  done  appeared  so  great,  that,  like  a  real 
woman,  she  was  not  able  to  reason,  but  only  endeavored 
to  reassure  herself  by  fallacious  arguments,  and  persuade 
herself  that  all  would  go  on  as  before ;  above  all  things, 
she  must  shut  her  eyes,  and  forget  this  terrible  ques- 
tion, what  would  become  of  her  son. 

"  I  beg  of  you,  I  entreat  you,"  she  said  suddenly, 
speaking  in  a  very  different  tone,  a  tone  of  tenderness 
and  sincerity,  and  seizing  his  hand,  "don't  ever  speak 
to  me  of  that  again." 

"But,  Anna...." 

"  Never,  never !  Leave  it  to  me.  I  know  all  the 
depth,  all  the  horror,  of  my  situation,  but  it  is  not  so 
easy  as  you  imagine  to  decide.  Let  me  decide,  and 
listen  to  me.  Never  speak  to  me  again  of  that.  Will 
you  promise  me  "i ....  never,  never }  promise  !  "  .... 

"  I  promise  all  ;  but  I  cannot  be  calm,  especially 
after  what  you  have  told  me.  I  cannot  be  calm  when 
you  cannot  be  calm."  .... 

"I.?"  she  repeated.  "Yes,  I  suffer  torments  some- 
times, but  that  will  pass  if  you  will  not  say  anything 
more  about  it.  When  you  speak  with  me  about  this, 
then,  and  then  only,  it  tortures  me." 

"  I  don't  understand  ....  " 

"  I  know,"  she  interrupted,  "  how  your  honest  nature 
abhors  lying ;  I  am  sorry  for  you  ;  and  very  often  I 
think  that  you  have  sacrificed  your  life  for  me  !  " 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  say  about  you.  I  was  just 
this  moment  thinking  how  you  could  sacrifice  yourself 
for  me !  I  cannot  forgive  myself  for  having  made  you 

"I  unhappy.?"  said  she,  coming  up  close  to  him, 
and  looking  at  him  with  a  smile  of  enthusiastic  love. 
"  I  .!*  I  am  like  a  man  dying  of  hunger,  to  whom  food 
has  been  given.     Maybe  he  is  cold,  and  his  raiment  is 


rags,  and  he  is  ashamed,  but  he  is  not  unhappy.  I  un- 
happy ?     No  ;  here  comes  my  joy."  .... 

She  had  heard  the  voice  of  her  Httle  boy  coming 
near,  and  giving  a  hurried  glance  around  her,  swiftly 
arose.  Her  face  glowed  with  the  fire  which  Vronsky 
knew  so  well,  and  with  a  hasty  motion  putting  out  her 
lovely  hands,  covered  with  rings,  she  took  Vronsky's 
face  between  them,  looked  at  him  a  long  moment, 
reached  her  face  up  to  his,  with  her  smiling  lips  parted, 
kissed  his  mouth  and  both  eyes,  and  pushed  him  away. 
She  started  to  go,  but  he  kept  her  back  a  moment. 

"  When  ? "  he  whispered,  looking  at  her  with  ecstasy. 

"  To-day  at  one  o'clock,"  she  replied  in  a  low  voice, 
and  with  a  deep  sigh  she  ran,  in  her  light,  graceful 
gait,  to  meet  her  son. 

Serozha  had  been  caught  by  the  rain  in  the  park, 
and  had  taken  refuge  with  his  nurse  in  a  pavilion. 

"Well,  good-by  —  da  svidanya  !''  said  she  to  Vron- 
sky. "  I  must  get  ready  for  the  races.  Betsy  has 
promised  to  come  and  get  me." 

Vronsky  looked  at  his  watch,  and  hurried  away. 


When  Vronsky  looked  at  his  watch  on  the  Karenins' 
terrace,  he  was  so  stirred  and  preoccupied,  that,  though 
he  saw  the  figures  on  the  face,  he  did  not  know  what 
time  it  was.  He  hurried  along  the  driveway,  and,  pick- 
ing his  way  carefully  through  the  mud,  he  reached  his 
carriage.  He  had  been  so  absorbed  by  his  conversation 
with  Anna  that  he  did  not  notice  the  hour,  or  ask  if  he 
still  had  time  to  go  to  Briansky's.  As  it  often  happens, 
he  had  only  the  external  faculty  of  memory,  and  it  re- 
called to  him  only  that  he  had  decided  to  do  something. 
He  found  his  coachman  dozing  on  his  box  under  the 
already  slanting  shade  of  the  linden  ;  he  noticed  the 
swarms  of  midgets  buzzing  around  his  sweaty  horses  ; 
then,  waking  the  coachman,  he  jumped  into  his  carriage, 
and  ordered  him  to  drive  to  Briansky's  ;  only  after  he 


had  gone  six  or  seven  versts  did  he  remember  that  he 
had  looked  at  his  watch  and  reahzed  that  it  was  half- 
past  five,  and  that  he  was  late. 

On  that  day  there  were  *to  be  several  races  :  first  the 
draught-horses,  then  the  officers'  two-verst  dash,  then  a 
second  of  four,  and  last  that  in  which  he  was  to  take 
part.  He  could  be  in  time  for  his  race,  but,  if  he  went 
to  Briansky's,  he  ran  the  risk  of  getting  to  the  grounds 
after  the  court  had  arrived.  That  was  not  in  good 
form.  But  he  had  promised  Briansky  to  be  there,  there- 
fore he  kept  on,  commanding  the  coachman  not  to  spare 
the  trofka.  He  reached  Briansky's,  spent  five  minutes 
with  him,  and  was  off  again  at  full  speed.  The  rapid 
motion  calmed  him.  All  the  difficulties  that  confronted 
him  in  his  relations  with  Anna,  all  the  uncertainty  that 
remained  after  their  conversation,  vanished  from  his 
mind ;  he  thought  with  delight  and  excitement  of  the 
race,  and  how  he  might  after  all  get  there  in  time,  and 
then  again  he  vividly  imagined  the  brilliant  society 
which  would  gather  to-day  at  the  course. 

And  he  got  more  and  more  into  the  atmosphere  of 
the  races  as  he  overtook  people  coming  in  their  car- 
riages from  various  villas,  and  even  from  Petersburg,  on 
their  way  to  the  hippodrome. 

When  he  reached  his  quarters,  no  one  was  at  home ; 
all  had  gone  to  the  races,  except  his  valet,  who  was  wait- 
ing for  him  at  the  entrance.  While  he  was  changing 
his  clothes,  his  valet  told  him  that  the  second  race  had 
already  begun^  that  a  number  of  gentlemen  had  been  to 
inquire  for  him. 

Vronsky  dressed  without  haste,  —  for  he  never  was 
hurried  and  he  never  lost  his  self-command, — and  di- 
rected the  coachman  to  take  him  to  the  stables.  P>om 
there  he  saw  a  sea  of  carriages  of  all  sorts,  of  pedes- 
trians, soldiers,  and  of  spectators,  surrounding  the  hip- 
podrome, and  the  seats  boiling  with  people. 

Evidently  the  second  course  had  been  run,  for  just 
as  he  reached  the  stables  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  bell. 
As  he  reached  the  stable,  he  noticed  Makhotin's  white- 
footed   chestnut    Gladiator,    covered   with   a   blue   and 


orange  caparison,  and  with  huge  ear-protectors  trimmed 
with  blue.  They  were  leading  him  out  to  the  hippo- 

"  Where  is  Cord  ? "  he  asked  of  the  groom. 

"  In  the  stable  ;  he  is  putting  on  the  saddle." 

Frou  Frou  was  all  saddled  in  her  open  box-stall.  They 
started  to  lead  her  out. 

"  I  am  not  late,  am  I .-' " 

''  All  right,  all  right,''  said  the  Englishman.  "Don't 
get  excited." 

Vronsky  once  more  gave  a  quick  glance  at  the  excel- 
lent, favorable  shape  of  his  horse,  as  she  stood  trem- 
bling in  every  limb  ;  and,  finding  it  hard  to  tear  himself 
away  from  such  a  beautiful  sight,  he  left  her  at  the 
stable.  He  approached  the  benches  at  a  most  favorable 
moment  for  doing  this  without  attracting  observation. 
The  two-verst  dash  was  just  at  an  end,  and  all  eyes  were 
fixed  on  a  cavalry-guardsman  who  was  in  the  lead,  and  a 
hussar  just  at  his  heels,  whipping  their  horses  furiously, 
and  approaching  the  goal.  From  the  center  and  both 
ends  all  crowded  in  toward  the  goal,  and  a  group  of 
officers  and  guardsmen  were  hailing  with  shouts  the 
triumph  of  their  fellow-officer  and  friend. 

Vronsky,  without  being  noticed,  joined  the  throng 
just  as  the  bell  announced  the  end  of  the  race ;  the 
victor,  a  tall  cavalry -guardsman,  covered  with  mud, 
dropped  the  reins,  slipped  off  from  the  saddle,  and  stood 
by  his  roan  stallion,  which  was  black  with  sweat,  and 
heavily  breathing. 

The  stallion,  with  a  violent  effort  thrusting  out  his 
legs,  had  stopped  the  swift  course  of  his  big  body ;  and 
the  officer,  like  a  man  awakening  from  a  deep  sleep,  was 
looking  about  him,  trying  hard  to  smile.  A  throng  of 
friends  and  strangers  pressed  about  him. 

Vronsky,  with  intention,  avoided  the  elegant  people 
who  were  circulating  about,  engaged  in  gay  and  ani- 
mated conversation  in  front  of  the  seats.  He  had  al- 
ready caught  sight  of  Anna,  Betsy,  and  his  brother's 
wife,  but  he  did  not  join  them,  so  that  he  might  not  be 
disconcerted  ;  but  he  kept  meeting  acquaintances  who 


stopped  him,  and  told  him  various  items  about  the  last 
race,  or  asked  him  why  he  was  late. 

While  they  were  distributing  the  prizes  at  the  pavilion, 
and  every  one  had  gone  in  this  direction,  Vronsky  was 
joined  by  fiis  elder  brother.  Aleksandr  Vronsky  was  a 
colonel  and  wore  epaulets,  and,  like  AlekseY,  was  a 
man  of  medium  stature,  and  rather  thick-set ;  but  he 
was  handsomer  and  ruddier.  His  nose  was  red,  and 
his  frank,  open  face  was  flushed  with  wine. 

"  Did  you  get  my  note  ? "  he  asked  of  his  brother. 
"You  are  never  to  be  found." 

Aleksandr  Vronsky,  in  spite  of  his  life  of  dissipation 
and  his  love  for  drink,  which  was  notorious,  was  a  thor- 
oughly courtly  man.  Knowing  that  many  eyes  might 
be  fixed  on  them,  he  preserved,  while  he  talked  on  a 
very  painful  subject,  a  smiling  face,  as  if  he  were  jesting 
with  his  brother  about  some  trifling  matter. 

"I  got  it,"  said  he,  "but  I  really  don't  understand 
why  you  interfere." 

"  I  interfere  because  I  noticed  you  were  not  to  be 
found  this  morning,  and  because  you  were  seen  at 
Peterhof  Monday." 

"There  are  matters  which  cannot  be  judged  except 
by  those  who  are  directly  interested,  and  the  matter  in 
which  you  concern  yourself  is  such."  .... 

"Yes  ;  but  when  one  is  not  in  the  service,  he...," 

"  I  beg  you  to  mind  your  own  business,  and  that  is  all." 

Aleksef  Vronsky's  frowning  face  grew  pale,  and  his 
rather  prominent  lower  jaw  shook.  This  happened 
rarely  with  him.  He  was  a  man  of  kindly  heart,  and 
rarely  got  angry ;  but  when  he  grew  angry,  and  when 
his  chin  trembled,  he  became  dangerous.  Aleksandr 
Vronsky  knew  it,  and  with  a  gay  laugh  replied  :  — 

"  I  only  wanted  to  give  you  matushka's  letter.  An- 
swer it,  and  don't  get  angry  before  the  race.  Bonne 
chance,''  he  added,  with  a  smile,  and  left  him. 

The  next  moment  another  friendly  greeting  surprised 

"  Won't  you  recognize  your  friends  .'*  How  are  you, 
mon  cher?"    said  Stepan  Arkady evitch,  with  his  rosy 


face  and  carefully  combed  and  pomaded  whiskers  ;  in 
the  midst  of  the  brilliant  society  of  Petersburg,  he  was 
no  less  brilliant  than  at  Moscow.  "  I  came  down  yes- 
terday, and  am  very  glad  to  be  present  at  your  triumph. 
When  can  we  meet  .■*  " 

"  Come  to  the  mess,  after  the  race  is  over,"  said 
Vronsky ;  and  with  an  apology  for  leaving  him,  he 
squeezed  the  sleeve  of  his  paletot,  and  went  to  the 
middle  of  the  hippodrome,  where  they  were  bringing  the 
horses  for  the  handicap-race. 

The  grooms  were  leading  back  the  sweaty  horses, 
wearied  by  the  race  which  they  had  run  ;  and  one  by 
one  the  fresh  horses  entered  for  the  next  course  appeared 
on  the  ground.  They  were,  for  the  most  part,  English 
horses,  in  hoods,  and  well  caparisoned,  and  looked  like 
enormous  strange  birds.  At  the  right-hand  side  they 
were  leading  in  the  lean  beauty,  Frou  Frou,  which  came 
out,  stepping  high  as  if  on  springs,  with  her  elastic  and 
slender  pasterns.  And  not  far  from  her  they  were 
removing  the  trappings  from  the  lop-eared  Gladiator. 
The  stallion's  solid,  superb,  and  perfectly  symmetrical 
form,  with  his  splendid  crupper  and  his  extraordinarily 
short  pasterns  placed  directly  over  the  hoofs,  attracted 
Vronsky's  admiration.  He  was  just  going  up  to  Frou 
Frou  when  another  acquaintance  stopped  him  again. 

"  Ah  !  there  is  Karenin,"  said  the  friend  with  whom 
he  was  talking ;  "  he  is  hunting  for  his  wife.  She  is  in 
the  very  center  of  the  pavilion.     Have  you  seen  her.?" 

"  No,  I  have  not,"  replied  Vronsky ;  and,  without 
turning  his  head  in  the  direction  where  his  acquain- 
tance told  him  that  Madame  Karenin  was,  he  went  to 
his  horse. 

He  had  scarcely  time  to  make  some  adjustment  of 
the  saddle,  when  those  who  were  to  compete  in  the 
hurdle-race  were  called  to  receive  their  numbers  and 
directions.  With  serious,  stern,  and  some  with  pale 
faces,  seventeen  men  in  all  approached  the  stand  and 
received  their  numbers.     Vronsky's  number  was  seven. 

"  Mount !  "  was  the  cry. 

Vronsky,  feeling  that  he,  with  his  companions,  was 


the  focus  toward  which  all  eyes  were  turned,  went  up 
to  his  horse  with  the  slow  and  deliberate  motions  which 
were  usual  to  him  when  he  was  under  the  strain  of 

Cord,  in  honor  of  the  races,  had  put  on  his  gala-day 
costume :  he  wore  a  black  coat,  buttoned  to  the  chin, 
and  a  stiffly  starched  shirt-collar,  which  made  a  support 
for  his  cheeks;  he  had  on  Hessian  boots  and  a  round 
black  cap.  He  was,  as  always,  calm  and  full  of  impor- 
tance, as  he  stood  by  the  mare's  head,  holding  both 
reins  in  his  hand.  Frou  Frou  was  still  shivering  as  if 
she  had  an  attack  of  fever  ;  her  fiery  eyes  gazed  askance 
at  Vronsky  as  he  approached.  He  passed  his  finger 
under  the  girth  of  the  saddle.  The  mare  looked  at  him 
still  more  askance,  showed  her  teeth,  and  pricked  up 
her  ears.  The  Englishman  puckered  up  his  lips  with  a 
grin  at  the  idea  that  there  could  be  any  doubt  as  to  his 
skill  in  putting  on  a  saddle.  "  Mount,  and  you  won't 
be  so  nervous,"  said  he. 

Vronsky  cast  a  final  glance  on  his  rivals  ;  he  knew 
that  he  should  not  see  them  again  until  the  race  was 
over.  Two  of  them  had  already  gone  to  the  starting- 
point.  Galtsin,  a  friend  of  his,  and  one  of  his  dangerous 
rivals,  was  turning  around  and  around  his  bay  stallion, 
which  was  trying  to  keep  him  from  mounting.  A  little 
Leib-hussar  in  tight  cavalry  trousers  was  off  on  a  gal- 
lop, bent  double  over  his  horse,  like  a  cat  on  the  crupper, 
in  imitation  of  the  English  fashion.  Prince  Kuzovlef, 
white  as  a  sheet,  was  mounted  on  a  thoroughbred  mare 
from  the  Grabovsky  stud  ;  an  Englishman  held  it  by 
the  bridle.  Vronsky  and  all  his  comrades  knew  Kuzo- 
vlef's  terrible  self-conceit,  and  his  peculiarity  of  "weak 
nerves."  They  knew  that  he  was  timid  at  everything, 
especially  timid  of  riding  horseback ;  but  now,  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  all  this  was  horrible  to  him, 
because  he  knew  that  people  broke  their  necks,  and 
that  at  every  hurdle  stood  a  surgeon,  an  ambulance  with 
its  cross  and  sister  of  charity,  still  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  ride. 

They  exchanged  glances,  and  Vronsky  gave  him  an 


encouraging  and  approving  nod.  One  only  he  now 
failed  to  see  :  his  most  redoubtable  rival,  Makhotin,  on 
Gladiator,  was  not  there. 

"Don't  be  in  haste,"  said  Cord  to  Vronsky,  "and 
remember  one  thing :  when  you  come  to  a  hurdle,  don't 
pull  back  or  spur  on  your  horse ;  let  her  take  it  her  own 

"Very  good,"  replied  Vronsky,  taking  the  reins. 

"  If  possible,  take  the  lead,  but  don't  be  discouraged 
even  to  the  last  if  you  are  behind." 

The  horse  did  not  have  time  to  stir  before  Vronsky, 
with  supple  and  powerful  movement,  put  his  foot  on  the 
notched  steel  stirrup,  and  gracefully,  firmly,  took  his 
seat  in  the  squeaking  leather  saddle.  Having  put  his 
right  foot  in  the  stirrup,  with  his  customary  care  he  then 
arranged  the  double  reins  between  his  fingers,  and 
Cord  let  go  the  animal's  head.  Frou  Frou,  as  if  not 
knowing  which  foot  to  put  down  first,  stretched  out  her 
neck,  and  pulled  on  the  reins,  and  she  started  off  as  if 
on  springs,  balancing  her  rider  on  her  supple  back. 
Cord,  quickening  his  pace,  followed  them.  The  mare, 
excited,  jumped  to  right  and  left,  trying  to  take  her 
master  off  his  guard,  and  pulled  at  the  reins,  and  Vron- 
sky vainly  endeavored  to  calm  her  with  his  voice  and 
with  his  hand. 

They  were  approaching  the  diked  bank  of  the  river, 
where  the  starting-post  was  placed.  Some  of  the  riders 
had  gone  on  ahead,  others  were  riding  behind,  when 
Vronsky  suddenly  heard  on  the  muddy  track  the  gallop 
of  a  horse  ;  and  Makhotin  dashed  by  on  his  white-footed, 
lop-eared  Gladiator.  Makhotin  smiled,  showing  his  long 
teeth,  but  Vronsky  looked  at  him  angrily.  He  did  not 
like  Makhotin  any  too  well,  and  now  he  regarded  him 
as  his  most  dangerous  rival  ;  and  he  was  exasperated  at 
the  way  he  galloped  up  behind  him,  exciting  his  mare.     ' 

Frou  Frou  kicked  up  her  heels  and  started  off  at  a 
gallop,  made  two  bounds,  and  then,  angry  at  the  re- 
straint of  the  curb,  changed  her  gait  into  a  trot  which 
shook  up  her  rider.  Cord  was  also  disgusted,  and  ran 
almost  as  fast  as  Vronsky. 



The  number  of  the  officers  who  were  to  take  part 
was  seventeen.  The  race-course  was  a  great  ellipse  of 
four  versts,  extending  before  the  judges'  stand,  and  nine 
obstacles  were  placed  upon  it :  the  "river"  ;  a  great  bar- 
rier two  arshins  —  four  feet,  eight  inches  —  high,  in  front 
of  the  pavilion ;  a  dry  ditch ;  a  ditch  filled  with  water  ; 
a  steep  ascent ;  an  Irish  banketka,  which  is  the  most 
difficult  of  all,  composed  of  an  embankment  set  with 
dry  branches,  behind  which  is  concealed  a  ditch,  oblig- 
ing the  horseman  to  leap  two  obstacles  at  once,  at  the 
risk  of  his  life ;  then  three  more  ditches,  two  filled  with 
water  and  one  dry  ;  and  finally  the  goal  opposite  the 
pavilion  again.  The  track  did  not  begin  in  the  circle 
itself,  but  about  a  hundred  saahcns,  or  seven  hundred 
feet,  to  one  side  ;  and  in  this  space  was  the  first  obstacle, 
the  diked  "river,"  about  three  arshins,  or  seven  feet, 
wide,  which  the  racers  were  free  to  leap  or  to  ford. 

Three  times  the  riders  got  into  line,  but  each  time 
some  horse  or  other  started  before  the  signal,  and  the 
men  had  to  be  called  back.  Colonel  Sestrin,  the  starter, 
was  beginning  to  get  impatient ;  but  at  last,  for  the 
fourth  time,  the  signal  was  given,  '^ Pashol !  —  Go  !  "  and 
the  riders  put  spurs  to  their  horses. 

All  eyes,  all  lorgnettes,  were  directed  toward  the 
variegated  group  of  racers  as  they  started  off. 

"  There  they  go  !  "  "  There  they  come  !  "  was  the 
cry  on  all  sides  after  the  silence  of  expectation. 

And  in  order  to  follow  them,  the  spectators  rushed, 
singly  or  in  groups,  toward  the  places  where  they  could 
get  a  better  view.  At  the  first  moment  the  collected 
group  of  horsemen  scattered  a  little,  and  it  could  be 
seen  how  they,  in  twos  and  threes,  and  singly,  one  after 
the  other,  approached  the  "river."  To  the  spectators  it 
seemed  as  if  they  were  all  moving  together,  but  to  the 
racers  themselves  there  were  seconds  of  separation 
which  had  great  value. 

Frou  Frou,  excited  and  too  nervous  at  first,  lost  the 


first  moment,  and  several  of  the  horses  were  ahead  of 
her;  but  Vronsky,  not  having  yet  reached  the  "river," 
and  trying  with  all  his  might  to  calm  her  as  she  pulled 
on  the  bridle,  soon  easily  outstripped  three,  and  now 
had  as  competitors  only  Makhotin's  chestnut  Gladiator, 
which  was  easily  and  smoothly  running  a  whole  length 
ahead,  and  still  more  to  the  fore  the  pretty  Diana,  car- 
rying Prince  Kuzovlef,  not  knowing  whether  he  was 
dead  or  alive. 

During  these  first  few  seconds  Vronsky  had  control 
neither  of  himself  nor  of  his  horse.  Up  to  the  first  ob- 
stacle, the  "  river,"  he  could  not  control  the  movements 
of  his  horse. 

Gladiator  and  Diana  reached  it  at  almost  one  and  the 
same  moment.  Both  at  once  rose  above  the  reka,  or 
"river,"  and  flew  across  to  the  other  side.  Frou  Frou 
lightly  leaped  behind  them,  as  if  she  had  wings.  The 
instant  that  Vronsky  perceived  that  he  was  in  the  air, 
he  caught  a  gUmpse  of  Kuzovlef  almost  under  the  feet 
of  his  horse,  wrestling  with  Diana  on  the  other  side 
of  the  "river."  Kuzovlef  had  loosened  the  reins  after 
Diana  jumped,  and  the  horse  had  stumbled,  throwing 
him  over  her  head.  These  details  Vronsky  learned 
afterwards,  but  at  this  time  he  only  saw  that  Frou  Frou 
might  land  on  Diana's  head  or  legs.  But  Frou  Frou, 
like  a  falling  cat,  making  a  desperate  effort  with  back 
and  legs  as  she  leaped,  landed  beyond  the  fallen  racer. 

"  O  you  dear  !  "  thought  Vronsky. 

After  the  reka  he  got  full  control  of  his  horse,  and 
even  held  her  back  a  little,  meaning  to  leap  the  great 
hurdle  behind  Makhotin,  and  to  do  his  best  to  outstrip 
him  when  they  reached  the  long  stretch  of  about  two 
hundred  sashcns,  or  fourteen  hundred  feet,  which  was 
free  of  obstacles. 

This  great  hurdle  was  built  exactly  in  front  of  the 
imperial  pavilion  ;  the  emperor,  the  court,  and  an  im- 
mense throng  were  watching  them,  watching  him  and 
Makhotin  on  the  horse  a  length  ahead  of  him,  as  they 
approached  the  choi't,  or  devil,  as  the  barrier  was  called. 
Vronsky  felt  all  these  eyes  fixed  on  him  from  every  side; 
VOL.  I.  — 17 


but  he  saw  only  his  horse's  ears  and  neck,  the  ground 
flying  under  him,  and  Gladiator's  flanks,  and  white  feet 
beating  the  ground  in  cadence,  and  always  maintaining 
the  same  distance  between  them.  Gladiator  flew  at  the 
hurdle,  gave  a  whisk  of  his  well-cropped  tail,  and,  with- 
out having  touched  the  hurdle,  vanished  from  Vronsky's 

"  Bravo  !  "  cried  a  voice. 

At  the  same  instant  the  planks  of  the  hurdle  flashed 
before  his  eyes.  Without  the  least  change  in  her  motion, 
the  horse  rose  under  him.  The  planks  creaked  and  just 
behind  him  there  was  the  sound  of  a  thump.  Frou  Frou, 
excited  by  the  sight  of  Gladiator,  had  leaped  too  soon, 
and  had  struck  the  hurdle  with  one  of  her  hind  feet,  but 
her  gait  was  unchanged  ;  and  Vronsky,  his  face  splashed 
with  mud,  saw  that  he  was  still  at  the  same  distance 
from  Gladiator,  he  saw  once  more  Gladiator's  crupper, 
his  short  tail,  and  his  swiftly  moving  white  feet. 

At  the  very  instant  that  Vronsky  decided  that  he 
ought  now  to  get  ahead  of  Makhotin,  Frou  Frou  herself 
comprehending  his  thought,  and  needing  no  stimulus, 
sensibly  increased  her  speed,  and  gained  on  Makhotin 
by  trying  to  take  the  inside  track  next  the  rope.  But 
Makhotin  did  not  yield  this  advantage.  Vronsky  was 
wondering  if  they  could  not  pass  on  the  outside,  when 
Frou  Frou,  as  if  divining  his  thought,  changed  of  her 
own  accord  and  took  this  direction.  Her  shoulder, 
darkened  with  sweat,  came  up  even  with  Gladiator's 
flank,  and  for  several  seconds  they  flew  almost  side  by 
side  ;  but  Vronsky,  before  the  obstacle  to  which  they 
were  now  coming,  in  order  not  to  take  the  outside  of 
the  great  circle,  began  to  ply  his  reins,  and,  just  on  the 
declivity,  he  managed  to  get  the  lead.  As  he  drew  by 
Makhotin  he  saw  his  mud-stained  face  ;  it  even  seemed 
to  him  that  he  smiled.  Vronsky  had  passed  Makhotin, 
but  he  was  conscious  that  he  was  just  behind,  he  was 
still  there,  within  a  step  ;  and  Vronsky  could  hear  the 
regular  rhythm  of  Gladiator's  feet,  and  his  hurried,  but 
far  from  winded,  breathing. 

The  next  two  obstacles,  the  ditch  and  the  hurdle,  were 


easily  passed,  but  Gladiator's  gallop  and  puffing  came 
nearer,  Vronsky  gave  Frou  Frou  the  spur,  and  perceived 
with  a  thrill  of  joy  that  she  easily  accelerated  her  speed  ; 
the  sound  of  Gladiator's  hoofs  was  heard  once  more  in 
the  same  relative  distance  behind. 

He  now  had  the  lead,  as  he  had  desired,  and  as  Cord 
had  recommended,  and  he  felt  sure  of  success.  His 
emotion,  his  joy,  his  affection  for  Frou  Frou,  were  all 
growing  more  pronounced.  He  wanted  to  look  back, 
but  he  did  not  dare  to  turn  around,  and  he  strove  to  calm 
himself,  and  not  to  push  his  horse  too  far,  so  that  she 
might  keep  a  reserve  equal  to  that  which  he  felt  Gladi- 
ator still  maintained. 

One  obstacle,  the  most  serious,  now  remained ;  if  he 
cleared  that  before  the  others,  then  he  would  be  first  in. 
He  was  now  approaching  the  Irish  banketka.  He  and 
Frou  Frou  at  the  same  instant  caught  sight  of  the  ob- 
stacle from  afar,  and  both,  horse  and  man  felt  a  moment 
of  hesitation.  Vronsky  noticed  the  hesitation  in  his 
horse's  ears,  and  he  was  just  lifting  his  whip ;  but  in- 
stantly he  was  conscious  that  his  fears  were  ungrounded, 
the  horse  knew  what  she  had  to  do.  She  got  her  start, 
and,  exactly  as  he  had  foreseen,  spurning  the  ground,  she 
gave  herself  up  to  the  force  of  inertia  which  carried  her 
far  beyond  the  ditch  ;  then  fell  again  into  the  measure 
of  her  pace  without  effort  and  without  change. 

"  Bravo,  Vronsky  !  " 

He  heard  the  acclamations  of  the  throng.  He  knew 
it  was  his  friends  and  his  regiment,  who  were  standing 
near  this  obstacle;  and  he  could  not  fail  to  distinguish 
Yashvin's  voice,  though  he  did  not  see  him. 

"  O  my  beauty  !  "  said  he  to  himself,  thinking  of  Frou 
Frou,  and  yet  listening  to  what  was  going  on  behind 
him.  "  He  has  cleared  it,"  he  said,  as  he  heard  Gladia- 
tor's hoof-beats  behind  him. 

The  last  ditch,  full  of  water,  five  feet  ^  wide,  now  was 
left.  Vronsky  scarcely  heeded  it ;  but,  anxious  to  come 
in  far  ahead  of  the  others,  he  began  to  saw  on  the  reins, 
lifting  her  head  and  letting  it  fall  again  in  time  with  the 

^  Two  arshins,  four  feet,  eight  inches.     Three  arshins  make  a  sazhen. 


rhythm  of  her  gait.  He  felt  that  the  horse  was  begin- 
ning to  draw  on  her  last  reserves  ;  not  only  were  her 
neck  and  her  sides  wet,  but  the  sweat  stood  in  drops 
on  her  throat,  her  head,  and  her  ears ;  her  breath  was 
short  and  gasping.  Still,  he  was  sure  that  she  had 
force  enough  to  cover  the  fourteen  hundred  feet  that 
lay  between  him  and  the  goal.  Only  because  he  felt 
himself  nearer  the  ground,  and  by  the  extraordinary 
smoothness  of  her  motion,  did  Vronsky  realize  how 
much  she  had  increased  her  speed.  The  ditch  was 
cleared,  how,  he  did  not  know. 

She  cleared  the  ditch  scarcely  heeding  it ;  she  cleared 
it  Hke  a  bird.  But  at  this  moment  Vronsky  felt,  to  his 
horror,  that,  instead  of  taking  the  swing  of  his  horse,  he 
had  made,  through  some  inexplicable  reason,  a  wretch- 
edly and  unpardonably  wrong  motion  in  falling  back 
into  the  saddle.  His  position  suddenly  changed,  and 
he  felt  that  something  horrible  had  happened.  He 
could  not  give  himself  any  clear  idea  of  it ;  but  there 
flashed  by  him  a  chestnut  steed  with  white  feet,  and 
Makhotin  by  a  swift  leap  passed  him. 

One  of  Vronsky's  feet  touched  the  ground,  and  his 
horse  stumbled.  He  had  scarcely  time  to  clear  himself 
when  the  horse  fell  on  her  side,  panting  painfully,  and 
making  vain  efforts  with  her  delicate  foam-covered  neck 
to  rise  again.  But  she  lay  on  the  ground,  and  strug- 
gled like  a  wounded  bird  ;  the  awkward  movement 
that  he  had  made  in  the  saddle  had  broken  her  back. 
But  he  did  not  learn  this  till  afterwards.  Now  he 
saw  only  one  thing,  that  Makhotin  was  far  ahead,  and 
that  he  was  tottering  there  alone,  standing  on  the 
muddy  immovable  ground,  and  before  him,  heavily  pant- 
ing, lay  Frou  Frou,  who  stretched  her  head  toward 
him,  and  looked  at  him  with  her  beautiful  eyes.  Still 
not  realizing  what  had  happened,  Vronsky  pulled  on  the 
reins.  The  poor  animal  struggled  like  a  fish,  splitting 
the  flaps  of  the  saddle,  and  tried  to  get  up  on  her  fore 
legs ;  but,  unable  to  move  her  hind  quarters,  she  fell 
back  on  the  ground  all  of  a  tremble,  Vronsky,  his  face 
pale  and   distorted  with   passion,  and  with   trembling 


lower  jaw,  kicked  her  in  the  belly  and  again  pulled  at 
the  reins.  But  she  did  not  move,  but  gazed  at  her 
master  with  one  of  her  speaking  looks,  and  buried  her 
nose  in  the  sand. 

"  Aaah  !  what  have  I  done  .•' "  cried  Vronsky,  taking 
her  head  in  his  hands.  "  Aaah  !  what  have  I  done  .-* " 
And  the  lost  race !  and  his  humiliating,  unpardonable 
blunder!  and  the  poor  ruined  horse!  "Aaah!  what 
have  I  done  ?  " 

The  people's  doctor  and  his  assistant,  the  officers  of 
his  regiment,  ran  to  his  aid  ;  but  to  his  great  mortifica- 
tion he  found  that  he  was  safe  and  sound.  The  horse's 
back  was  broken  and  she  had  to  be  killed, 

Vronsky  could  not  answer  the  questions  which  were 
put  to  him,  could  not  speak  a  word  to  any  one  ;  he  turned 
away  and,  without  picking  up  his  cap,  left  the  hippo- 
drome, not  knowing  whither  he  was  going.  He  was  in 
despair.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  the  victim 
of  a  misfortune  for  which  there  was  no  remedy,  and  for 
which  he  felt  that  he  himself  was  the  only  one  to  blame. 

Yashvin,  with  his  cap,  overtook  him  and  brought  him 
back  to  his  quarters,  and  in  half  an  hour  Vronsky  was  calm 
and  self-possessed  again  ;  but  this  race  was  for  a  long 
time  the  most  bitter  and  cruel  remembrance  of  his  life. 


The  external  relations  of  Aleksel  Aleksandrovitch 
and  his  wife  were  the  same  as  they  had  been.  The 
only  difference  was  that  he  was  more  absorbed  in  his 
work  than  he  had  been.  Early  in  the  spring  he  went 
abroad,  as  was  his  custom  each  year,  to  recuperate  at 
the  water-cure  after  the  fatigues  of  the  winter.  He  re- 
turned in  July,  as  he  usually  did,  and  resumed  his  duties 
with  new  energy.  His  wife  had  taken  up  her  summer 
quarters  as  usual  in  a  datc/ta,  or  summer  villa,  not  far 
from  Petersburg ;  he  remained  in  the  city. 

Since  their  conversation  after  the  reception  at  the 
Princess  Tverskaya's,  he  had  said  nothing  more  about 


his  jealousies  or  suspicions ;  and  the  tone  of  raillery 
habitual  with  AlekseY  Aleksandrovitch  was  to  the  high- 
est degree  useful  to  him  in  his  present  relations  with 
his  wife.  He  was  somewhat  cooler  in  his  treatment  of 
her,  although  he  seemed  to  have  felt  only  a  slight  ill- 
will  toward  her  after  that  night's  conversation  which 
she  had  refused  to  listen  to.  In  his  relations  to  her 
there  was  a  shade  of  spite,  but  nothing  more.  He 
seemed  to  say,  "  You  have  not  been  willing  to  have  an 
understanding  with  me ;  so  much  the  worse  for  you. 
Now  you  must  make  the  first  advances,  and  I,  in  my 
turn,  will  not  listen  to  you." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  you,"  said  he  in  his  thought, 
like  a  man  who  should  try  in  vain  to  put  out  a  fire  and 
should  be  angry  at  his  vain  efforts,  and  should  say,  "  I 
have  done  my  best  for  you  ;  burn  then  !  " 

This  man,  so  keen  and  shrewd  in  matters  of  public 
concern,  could  not  see  the  absurdity  of  such  behavior  to 
his  wife.  He  did  not  understand  it  because  it  was  too 
terrible  to  understand  his  actual  position.  He  preferred 
to  bury  the  affection  which  he  felt  for  his  wife  and  child 
deep  in  his  heart,  as  in  a  box  locked  and  sealed.  He, 
a  watchful  father,  had  begun  toward  the  end  of  that 
winter  to  be  singularly  cold  toward  the  child,  speaking 
to  him  in  the  same  bantering  tone  that  he  used  toward 
his  wife.  When  he  addressed  him  he  would  say,  "  Ah, 
young  man  ! " 

Alekseif  Aleksandrovitch  thought  and  declared  that 
he  had  never  had  so  many  important  affairs  as  this  year  ; 
but  he  did  not  confess  that  he  had  himself  under- 
taken them  in  order  to  keep  from  opening  his  secret 
coffer  which  contained  his  sentiments  toward  his  wife 
and  his  family,  and  his  thoughts  concerning  them,  — 
thoughts  which  grew  more  and  more  terrible  to  him 
the  longer  he  kept  them  out  of  sight. 

If  any  one  had  assumed  the  right  to  ask  him  what  he 
thought  about  his  wife's  conduct,  this  calm  and  pacific 
Aleksel  Aleksandrovitch  would  have  made  no  reply,  but 
would  have  been  very  indignant  with  the  man  who 
should  dare  to  ask  him  such  a  question.     And  so  his 


face  always  looked  stern  and  haughty  whenever  any  one 
asked  how  his  wife  was.  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  did 
not  wish  to  think  about  his  wife's  conduct  and  feelings, 
and  therefore  he  did  not  think  about  them. 

The  Karenins'  summer  datcha  was  at  Peterhof ;  and  the 
Countess  Lidya  Ivanovna  generally  spent  her  summers 
in  the  same  neighborhood,  keeping  up  friendly  relations 
with  Anna.  This  year  the  countess  had  not  cared  to  go  to 
Peterhof,  nor  had  she  once  called  on  Anna  Arkadyevna  ; 
and  as  she  was  talking  with  Karenin  one  day,  she  made 
some  allusion  to  the  impropriety  of  Anna's  intimacy 
with  Betsy  and  Vronsky.  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch 
stopped  her  harshly,  and  declared  that  for  him  his  wife 
was  above  suspicion,  and  from  that  day  he  avoided  the 
countess.  He  did  not  wish  to  see  and  he  did  not  see 
that  many  people  in  society  were  beginning  to  give 
his  wife  the  cold  shoulder ;  he  did  not  wish  to  com- 
prehend and  he  did  not  comprehend  why  his  wife  es- 
pecially insisted  on  going  to  Tsarskoye,  where  Betsy 
lived  and  from  which  it  was  not  far  to  Vronsky's 

He  did  not  allow  himself  to  think  about  this,  and  he 
did  not  think ;  but  at  the  same  time,  without  any  proof 
to  support  him,  without  actually  acknowledging  it  to 
himself,  in  the  depths  of  his  soul  he  felt  that  he  was  a 
deceived  husband ;  he  had  no  doubt  about  it,  and  he 
suffered  deeply. 

How  many  times  in  the  course  of  his  eight  years  of 
happy  married  life,  as  he  had  seen  other  men's  wives 
playing  them  false  and  other  husbands  deceived,  had  he 
not  asked  himself,  "How  did  it  come  to  this.-*  Why 
don't  they  free  themselves  at  any  cost  from  such  an 
absurd  situation  .-* "  But  now,  when  the  evil  had  fallen 
on  his  own  head,  he  not  only  did  not  dream  of  extricat- 
ing himself  from  his  own  trouble,  but  he  would  not 
even  admit  it,  would  not  admit  it  for  the  very  reason 
that  it  was  too  horrible  and  too  unnatural. 

Since  his  return  from  abroad,  Alekseif  Aleksandrovitch 
had  gone  twice  to  his  wife's  datcha,  —  once  to  dine 
with  her,  the  other  time  to  pass  the  evening  with  some 


guests,  but  not  once  had  he  spent  the  night,  as  had 
been  his  custom  in  previous  years. 

The  day  of  the  races  was  extremely  engrossing  for 
Aleksel  Aleksandrovitch  ;  but  when  in  the  morning  he 
made  out  the  program  of  the  day,  he  decided  to  go  to 
his  wife's  datcha  after  an  early  dinner,  and  thence  to 
the  hippodrome,  where  he  expected  to  find  the  court, 
and  where  it  was  proper  that  he  should  be  seen.  He 
went  to  see  his  wife  because  he  had  resolved,  for  the 
sake  of  propriety  also,  to  visit  his  wife  every  week. 
Moreover,  it  was  the  fifteenth  of  the  month,  and  it  was 
his  custom  at  this  time  to  place  in  her  hands  the  money 
for  the  household  expenses. 

With  his  ordinary  power  over  his  thoughts  he  gave 
this  much  consideration  to  his  wife's  affairs,  but  beyond 
this  point  he  would  not  permit  them  to  pass. 

His  morning  had  been  extremely  full  of  business. 
The  evening  before  he  had  received  a  pamphlet,  written 
by  a  famous  traveler,  who  had  recently  returned  from 
China  and  was  now  in  Petersburg  ;  a  note  from  the 
Countess  Lidya,  accompanying  it,  begged  him  to  receive 
this  traveler,  who  seemed  likely  to  be,  on  many  ac- 
counts, a  useful  and  interesting  man.  Aleksel  Alek- 
sandrovitch had  not  been  able  to  get  through  the 
pamphlet  in  the  evening,  and  he  finished  it  after  break- 
fast. Then  came  petitions,  reports,  visits,  nominations, 
removals,  the  distribution  of  rewards,  pensions,  salaries, 
correspondence,  all  that  "  workaday  labor,"  as  Aleksef 
Aleksandrovitch  called  it,  which  consumes  so  much 

Then  came  his  private  business,  a  visit  from  his  phy- 
sician and  a  call  from  his  steward.  The  steward  did  not 
stay  very  long.  He  only  brought  the  money  which 
Aleksel  Aleksandrovitch  needed,  and  a  brief  report  on 
the  condition  of  his  affairs,  which  this  year  were  not 
very  satisfactory,  since  it  happened  that  in  consequence 
of  various  outlays  there  had  been  a  heavy  drain  upon 
him  and  there  was  a  deficit. 

But  the  doctor,  who  was  a  famous  physician  of 
Petersburg,  and  had  come  into  very  friendly  relations 


with  AlekseY  Aleksandrovitch,  took  considerable  time. 
Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch  had  not  expected  him  that  day 
and  was  astonished  at  his  visit,  and  still  more  so  at  the 
scrupulous  care  with  which  he  plied  him  with  questions, 
and  sounded  his  lungs  and  punched  and  thumped  his 
liver ;  Aleksei'  Aleksandrovitch  was  not  aware  that  his 
friend,  the  Countess  Lidya,  troubled  by  his  abnormal 
condition,  had  begged  the  doctor  to  visit  him  and  give 
him  a  thorough  examination. 

"  Do  it  for  my  sake,"  said  the  Countess  Lidya  Iva- 

"  I  will  do  it  for  the  sake  of  Russia,  countess,"  replied 
the  doctor. 

"  Admirable  man  !  "  cried  the  countess. 

The  doctor  was  very  much  disturbed  at  Aleksei 
Aleksandrovitch's  state.  His  liver  was  congested,  his 
digestion  was  bad ;  the  waters  had  done  him  no  good. 
He  ordered  more  physical  exercise,  as  little  mental 
strain  as  possible,  and,  above  all,  freedom  from  vexation 
of  spirit ;  in  other  words,  he  ordered  Aleksei'  Aleksan- 
drovitch to  do  what  was  as  impossible  for  him  as  not  to 

The  doctor  departed,  leaving  Alekse'f  Aleksandrovitch 
with  the  disagreeable  impression  that  something  was 
very  wrong  with  him,  and  that  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

On  the  way  out,  the  doctor  met  on  Karenin's  steps 
his  old  acquaintance  Sliudin,  who  was  Alekse'f  Alek- 
sandrovitch's chief  secretary.  They  had  been  in  t'he 
university  together ;  but,  though  they  rarely  met,  they 
were  still  excellent  friends,  and  therefore  to  no  one  else 
than  Sliudin  would  the  doctor  have  expressed  his  opinion 
concerning  the  sick  man  so  frankly. 

"  How  glad  I  am  that  you  have  been  to  see  him ! " 
said  Sliudin.  "  He  is  not  well,  and  it  seems  to  me ..... 
Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  the  doctor,  nodding  to  his 
coachman  to  drive  up  to  the  door.  "This  is  what  I 
say;"  and,  taking  with  his  white  hand  the  fingers  of 
his  dogskin  glove,  he  stretched  it  out ;  "  try  to  break 
a  tough  cord  which  is  not  stretched  and  it 's  hard  work ; 


but  keep  it  stretched  out  to  its  utmost  tension,  and 
put  the  weight  of  your  finger  on  it,  it  breaks.  Now, 
with  his  too  sedentary  life,  and  his  too  conscientious 
labor,  he  is  strained  to  the  utmost  limit ;  and  besides, 
there  is  a  violent  pressure  in  another  direction,"  con- 
cluded the  doctor,  raising  his  eyebrows  significantly. 
"  Shall  you  be  at  the  races  ? "  he  added,  as  he  got  into 
his  carriage. 

"  Yes,  yes,  certainly ;  it  takes  a  good  deal  of  time," 
he  said  in  reply  to  something  that  Sliudin  said,  and 
which  he  did  not  catch. 

Immediately  after  the  departure  of  the  doctor,  who 
had  taken  so  much  time,  the  celebrated  traveler  ap- 
peared ;  and  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch,  aided  by  the 
pamphlet  which  he  had  just  read,  and  by  some  pre- 
vious information  which  he  had  on  the  subject,  aston- 
ished his  visitor  by  the  extent  of  his  knowledge  and 
the  breadth  of  his  views. 

At  the  same  time  the  marshal  ^  of  nobility  of  his 
government  was  announced,  who  had  come  to  Peters- 
burg and  wanted  to  talk  with  him.  After  his  departure 
he  was  obliged  to  settle  the  routine  business  with  his 
chief  secretary,  and  finally  to  go  out  and  make  a  serious 
and  necessary  call  on  an  important  personage. 

Alekself  Aleksandrovitch  had  only  time  to  get  back 
to  his  five  o'clock  dinner  with  Sliudin,  whom  he  in- 
vited to  join  him  on  his  visit  to  the  country  and  to  the 

Without  exactly  accounting  for  it,  Aleksef  Aleksan- 
drovitch always  endeavored  lately  to  have  a  third  per- 
son present  when  he  had  an  interview  with  his  wife. 


Anna  was  in  her  room  standing  before  a  mirror  and 
fastening  a  final  bow  to  her  dress,  with  Annushka's  aid, 
when  the  noise  of  wheels  on  the  gravel  driveway  was 

^  Gubernsky  Predvodityel. 


"  It  is  too  early  for  Betsy,"  she  thought ;  and,  looking 
out  of  the  window,  she  saw  a  carriage  and  in  the  car- 
riage AlekseY  Aleksandrovitch's  black  hat  and  well- 
known  ears. 

"How  provoking!  Can  he  have  come  for  the  night  ?" 
she  thought ;  and  all  the  consequences  of  his  visit 
seemed  to  her  so  terrible,  so  horrible,  that  without 
taking  time  for  a  moment  of  reflection,  she  went  down- 
stairs, radiant  with  gayety,  to  receive  her  husband;  and, 
feeling  in  her  the  presence  of  the  spirit  of  falsehood  and 
deception  which  now  ruled  her,  she  gave  herself  up  to  it 
and  spoke  with  her  husband,  not  knowing  what  she  said. 

"  Ah  !  how  good  of  you !  "  said  she,  extending  her 
hand  to  Karenin,  while  she  smiled  on  Sliudin  as  a 
household  friend. 

"  You  've  come  for  the  night,  I  hope  .-' "  were  her  first 
words,  inspired  by  the  demon  of  untruth  ;  "and  now  we 
will  go  to  the  races  together.  But  how  sorry  I  am  that 
I  engaged  to  go  with  Betsy.     She  is  coming  for  me." 

Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  frowned  slightly  at  the  name 
of  Betsy. 

"Oh!  I  will  not  separate  the  inseparables,"  said  he, 
in  his  light  jesting  tone.  "I  will  walk  with  Mikhad 
Vasilyevitch.  The  doctor  advised  me  to  take  exercise ; 
I  will  join  the  pedestrians,  and  imagine  I  am  still  at 
the  Spa." 

"There  is  no  hurry,"  said  Anna.  "Will  you  have 
some  tea  ? " 

She  rang. 

"  Serve  the  tea,  and  tell  Serozha  that  Aleksei"  Alek- 
sandrovitch  has  come.  —  Well !  how  is  your  health  }  — 
Mikhail  Vasilyevitch,  you  have  not  been  out  to  see  us 
before  ;  look  !  how  pleasant  it  is  on  the  balcony  ! "  said 
she,  looking  now  at  her  husband,  now  at  her  guest. 

She  spoke  very  simply  and  naturally,  but  too  fast  and 
too  fluently.  She  herself  felt  that  it  was  so,  especially 
when  she  caught  Mikhail  Vasilyevitch  looking  at  her  with 
curiosity  and  perceived  that  he  was  studying  her. 

Mikhail  Vasilyevitch  got  up  and  went  out  on  the 
terrace,  and  she  sat  down  beside  her  husband. 


"You  do  not  look  at  all  well,"  said  she. 

"  Oh,  yes !  The  doctor  came  this  morning,  and  wasted 
an  hour  of  my  time.  I  am  convinced  that  some  one  of 
my  friends  sent  him.    .  My  health  is  so  precious ...." 

'♦  No,  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

And  she  questioned  him  about  his  health  and  his 
labors,  advising  him  to  take  rest,  and  to  come  out  into 
the  country,  where  she  was. 

It  was  all  said  with  gayety  and  animation,  and  with 
brilliant  light  in  her  eyes,  but  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch 
attached  no  special  importance  to  her  manner  ;  he  heard 
only  her  words,  and  took  them  in  their  literal  significa- 
tion. And  he  replied  simply,  though  jestingly.  The 
conversation  had  no  special  weight,  yet  Anna  never  after- 
ward could  remember  the  whole  short  scene  without  the 
keen  agony  of  shame. 

Serozha  came  in,  accompanied  by  his  governess.  If 
Alekself  Aleksandrovitch  had  allowed  himself  to  notice, 
he  would  have  been  struck  by  the  timid  manner  in 
which  the  lad  looked  at  his  parents, — at  his  father 
first,  and  then  at  his  mother.  But  he  was  unwilling  to 
see  anything,  and  he  saw  nothing. 

"Ah,  young  man!  He  has  grown.  Indeed,  he  is 
getting  to  be  a  great  fellow !  Good-morning,  young 

And  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  the  puzzled  child. 
Serozha  had  always  been  a  little  afraid  of  his  father ; 
but  now,  since  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  had  begun  to 
call  him  "young  man,"  and  since  he  had  begun  to  rack 
his  brains  to  discover  whether  Vronsky  were  a  friend  or 
an  enemy,  he  was  becoming  more  timid  than  ever.  He 
turned  to  his  mother,  as  if  for  protection  ;  he  felt  at 
ease  only  when  with  her.  Meantime  AlekseK  Aleksan- 
drovitch laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  and  asked 
his  governess  about  him  ;  but  the  child  was  so  painfully 
shy  of  him  that  Anna  saw  he  was  going  to  cry. 

Anna,  who  had  flushed  at  the  moment  her  son  came 
in,  now  noticing  that  it  was  awkward  for  him,  quickly 
jumped  up,  raised  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch's  hand  to 
let  the  boy  go,  kissed  the  little  fellow,  and  took  hira 


out  on  the  terrace.  Then  she  came  back  to  her  husband 

"  It  is  getting  late,"  she  said,  consulting  her  watch. 
"  Why  does  n't  Betsy  come  ?  "  .... 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Aleksel  Aleksandrovitch,  and  as  he 
got  up  he  joined  his  fingers  and  made  them  crack.  "  I 
came  also  to  bring  you  some  money,  for  nightingales 
don't  live  on  songs,"  said  he.  "  You  need  it,  I  sup- 
pose .-' " 

"  No,  I  don't  need  it ....  yes  ....  I  do,"  said  she,  not  look- 
ing at  him  and  blushing  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  "  Well, 
I  suppose  you  will  come  back  after  the  races  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes!"  replied  Aleksei'  Aleksandrovitch.  "But 
here  is  the  glory  of  Peterhof,  the  Princess  Tverskaya," 
he  added,  looking  out  of  the  window  at  a  magnificent 
carriage  with  a  short  body  set  very  high  and  with  horses 
harnessed  in  the  English  fashion,  drawing  up  to  the 
entrance;  "what  elegance!  splendid  I  well,  let  us  go 
too ! " 

The  Princess  Tverskaya  did  not  leave  her  carriage; 
her  lackey,  in  top-boots  and  pelerinka,  or  short  cloak, 
and  wearing  a  tall  hat,  leaped  to  the  steps. 

"  I  am  going,  good-by,"  said  Anna,  and  after  she  had 
kissed  her  son,  she  went  to  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch 
and  gave  him  her  hand.  "  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to 

AlekseY  Aleksandrovitch  kissed  her  hand. 

"  Well  then,  da  svidanya  I  You  will  come  back  to 
tea .''  Excellent !  "  she  said,  as  she  went  down  the  steps, 
seeming  radiant  and  happy. 

But  hardly  had  she  passed  from  his  sight  before  she 
felt  on  her  hand  the  place  where  his  lips  had  kissed  it, 
and  she  shivered  with  repugnance. 



When  Alekseif  Aleksandrovitch  reached  the  race- 
course, Anna  was  already  in  her  place  beside  Betsy,  in 
the  grand  pavilion,  where  all  the  highest  society  was 
gathered  in  a  brilliant  throng.  She  saw  her  husband 
from  a  distance.  Two  men,  her  husband  and  her  lover, 
were  for  her  the  two  centers  of  life,  and  without  the  help 
of  her  external  senses  she  felt  their  presence.  Even 
when  her  husband  was  at  a  distance  she  was  conscious 
of  his  presence,  and  she  involuntarily  followed  him  in 
that  billowing  throng  in  the  midst  of  which  he  was 
coming  along.  She  saw  him  approach  the  pavilion,  now 
replying  with  condescension  to  ingratiating  salutations, 
then  cordially  or  carelessly  exchanging  greetings  with  his 
equals  ;  then  again  assiduously  watching  to  catch  the 
glances  of  the  great  ones  of  the  earth,  and  taking  off 
his  large,  round  hat,  which  came  down  to  the  top  of  his 
ears.  Anna  knew  all  these  mannerisms  of  salutation, 
and  they  were  all  equally  distasteful  to  her. 

"  Nothing  but  ambition  ;  craze  for  success  ;  it  is  all 
that  his  heart  contains,"  she  thought ;  "  but  his  lofty 
views,  his  love  for  civilization,  his  religion,  they  are 
only  means  whereby  to  win  success." 

From  the  glances  that  Karenin  cast  on  the  pavilion, 
he  was  looking  straight  at  his  wife,  but  could  not  see 
her  in  the  sea  of  muslin,  ribbons,  feathers,  flowers,  and 
sunshades  —  Anna  knew  he  was  looking  for  her,  but 
she  pretended  not  to  see  him. 

"  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch,"  cried  the  Princess  Betsy, 
**  don't  you  see  your  wife  ?  here  she  is !  " 

He  looked  up  with  his  icy  smile. 

"  Everything  is  so  brilliant  here,  that  it  blinds  the 
eyes,"  he  replied,  as  he  came  up  the  pavilion. 

He  smiled  at  Anna,  as  it  is  a  husband's  duty  to  do 
when  he  has  only  just  left  his  wife,  greeted  Betsy  and 
his  other  acquaintances,  conducting  himself  in  due  form, 
in  other  words,  jesting  with  the  ladies,  and  exchanging 
compliments  with  the  men. 


A  general-adjutant,  well  known  for  his  wit  and  culture, 
and  highly  esteemed  by  AlekseY  Aleksandrovitch,  was 
standing  below  near  the  pavilion.  Aleksel  Aleksan- 
drovitch joined  him,  and  engaged  in  conversation.  It 
was  the  interval  between  two  of  the  races ;  the  general- 
adjutant  condemned  racing.  Aleksei"  Aleksandrovitch 
replied  and  defended  them. 

Anna  heard  his  shrill,  monotonous  voice,  and  lost  not 
a  single  word  ;  and  every  word  that  he  spoke  seemed  to 
her  hypocritical  and  rang  unpleasantly  in  her  ear. 

When  the  four-verst  handicap-race  began,  she  leaned 
forward,  not  letting  Vronsky  out  of  her  sight  for  an 
instant.  She  saw  him  approach  his  horse,  then  mount 
it  ;  and  at  the  same  time  she  heard  her  husband's  odious, 
incessant  voice.  She  was  tormented  with  fear  for  Vron- 
sky ;  but  she  was  tormented  still  more  by  the  sound  of 
her  husband's  sharp  voice,  every  intonation  of  which 
she  knew ;  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  would  never  cease 

"  I  am  a  wicked  woman,  a  lost  woman,"  she  thought ; 
"  but  I  hate  falsehood,  I  cannot  endure  lies ;  but  to 
him  "  —  meaning  her  husband  —  *'  lies  are  his  daily  food  ! 
He  knows  all,  he  sees  everything  ;  how  much  feeling 
has  he,  if  he  can  go  on  speaking  with  such  calmness .-' 
I  should  have  some  respect  for  him  if  he  killed  me,  if 
he  killed  Vronsky.  But  no !  what  he  prefers  above 
everything  is  falsehood  and  conventionality,"  said  Anna 
to  herself,  not  exactly  knowing  what  she  wanted  of  her 
husband,  whatever  she  might  want  him  to  see.  She 
did  not  understand  that  the  very  volubility  of  Alekse'f 
Aleksandrovitch,  which  irritated  her  so,  was  only  the 
expression  of  his  interior  agitation  and  anxiety. 

As  a  child,  hurt  when  jumping,  puts  its  muscles  into 
motion  to  assuage  the  pain,  so  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch 
absolutely  required  some  intellectual  movement,  so  as  to 
become  oblivious  to  the  thoughts  about  his  wife  that 
arose  in  his  mind  at  the  sight  of  Anna  and  at  the  sight 
of  Vronsky,  whose  name  he  heard  on  all  sides.  And 
as  it  is  natural  for  a  child  to  jump,  so  for  him  was  it 
natural  to  talk  tersely  and  well. 


"  Danger,"  he  was  saying,  "  is  an  indispensable  con 
clition  in  these  military  and  cavalry  races.  If  England 
can  show  in  her  history  the  most  glorious  deeds  of  arms 
performed  by  her  cavalry,  she  owes  it  solely  to  the  his- 
toric development  of  vigor  in  her  people  and  her  horses. 
Sport,  in  my  opinion,  has  a  deep  significance ;  and,  as 
usual,  we  take  it  only  in  its  superficial  aspect." 

"  Not  superficial,"  said  the  Princess  Tverskaya  ;  "  they 
say  that  one  of  the  officers  has  broken  two  ribs." 

Alekself  Aleksandrovitch  smiled  with  his  smile  which 
only  uncovered  his  teeth  and  was  perfectly  expression- 

"  Let  us  admit,  princess,"  said  he,  "that  in  this  case  it 
is  not  superficial,  but  serious.^  But  that  is  not  the 
point ;  "  and  he  turned  again  to  the  general,  and  resumed 
his  dignified  discourse  :  — 

"  You  must  not  forget  that  those  who  take  part  are 
military  men  who  have  chosen  this  career,  and  you  must 
agree  that  every  vocation  has  its  reverse  side  of  the 
medal.  This  belongs  to  the  calling  of  war.  Such 
brutal  sport  as  boxing-matches  and  Spanish  bull-fights 
are  indications  of  barbarism,  but  specialized  sport  is  a 
sign  of  development." 

"  No,  I  won't  come  another  time,"  the  Princess 
Betsy  was  saying ;  "  it  is  too  exciting  for  me ;  don't 
you  think  so,  Anna  } " 

"  It  is  exciting,  but  it  is  fascinating,"  said  another 
lady ;  "  if  I  had  been  a  Roman,  I  should  never  have 
missed  a  single  gladiatorial  show." 

Anna  did  not  speak,  but,  with  her  opera-glass,  was 
gazing  intently  at  a  single  spot. 

At  this  moment  a  tall  general  came  across  the 
pavilion.  Aleksel  Aleksandrovitch,  breaking  off  his 
discourse  abruptly,  arose  with  dignity,  and  made  a 
low  bow. 

"  Are  n't  you  racing .-'  "  asked  the  general,  jestingly. 

"  My  race  is  a  far  more  difficult  one,"  replied  Aleksel 
Aleksandrovitch,  respectfully ;  and  though  this  answer 
was   not   remarkable   for   its   sense,  the   military   man 

1  Vnutrenneye,  internal. 


seemed  to  think  that  he  had  received  a  witty  repartee 
from  a  witty  man,  and  appreciated  la  pointe  de  la 

"There  are  two  sides  to  the  question,"  AlekseY  Alek- 
sandrovitch  said,  resuming,  —  "that  of  the  participants, 
and  that  of  the  spectators ;  and  I  confess  that  a  love 
for  such  spectacles  is  a  genuine  sign  of  inferiority  in 
those  that  look  on,  but ....  " 

"Princess,  a  wager,"  cried  the  voice  of  Stepan  Ar- 
kadyevitch  from  below,  addressing  Betsy.  "Which 
side  will  you  take  .'*  " 

"  Anna  and  I  bet  on  Prince  Kuzovlef,"  replied  Betsy. 

"  I  am  for  Vronsky.     A  pair  of  gloves." 


"How  jolly!  isn't  it?" 

Alekseif  Aleksandrovitch  stopped  speaking  while  this 
conversation  was  going  on  around  him,  and  then  he 
began  anew :  — 

"  I  confess,  unmanly  games ....  " 

But  at  this  instant  the  signal  of  departure  was  heard, 
and  all  conversation  ceased.  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch 
also  ceased  speaking ;  and  every  one  stood  up  so  as 
to  look  at  the  "river."  But  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch 
was  not  interested  in  the  race,  and  so,  instead  of 
watching  the  riders,  looked  around  the  assembly  with 
weary  eyes.     His  gaze  fell  on  his  wife. 

Her  face  was  pale  and  stern.  She  evidently  saw 
nothing  and  no  one  —  except  one  person.  Her  hands 
convulsively  clutched  her  fan ;  she  held  her  breath. 
Karenin  looked  at  her,  then  hastily  turned  away,  gaz- 
ing at  the  faces  of  other  women. 

"  There  is  another  lady  very  much  moved,  and  still 
another  just  the  same  ;  it  is  very  natural,"  said  Aleksel 
Aleksandrovitch  to  himself.  He  did  not  wish  to  look 
at  her ;  but  his  gaze  was  irresistibly  drawn  to  her  face. 
He  once  more  gazed  into  her  face,  trying  not  to  read 
in  it  what  was  so  plainly  pictured  on  it,  and  against 
his  will  he  read,  with  feelings  of  horror,  all  that  he 
had  tried  to  ignore. 

When  Kuzovlef   fell  at  the  "  river,"  the  excitement 

VOL.  I. — 18 


was  general ;  but  Alekseif  Aleksandrovitch  saw  clearly 
by  Anna's  pale,  triumphant  face  that  he  that  fell  was 
not  the  one  on  whom  her  gaze  was  riveted. 

When,  after  Makhotin  and  Vronsky  crossed  the  great 
hurdle,  another  officer  was  thrown  head  first,  and  was 
picked  up  for  dead,  a  shudder  of  horror  ran  through 
the  assembly ;  but  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  perceived 
that  Anna  did  not  even  notice  it,  and  scarcely  knew 
what  the  people  around  her  were  talking  about. 

But  he  kept  studying  her  face,  with  deeper  and 
deeper  attention.  Anna,  all  absorbed  as  she  was  in 
the  spectacle  of  Vronsky's  course,  was  conscious  that 
her  husband's  cold  eyes  were  on  her.  She  turned 
around  for  an  instant  and  looked  at  him  questioningly. 
Then  with  a  slight  frown  she  turned  away. 

"  Akh !  it  is  all  the  same  to  me,"  she  seemed  to  say, 
as  she  turned  her  glass  to  the  race.  She  did  not  look 
at  him  again. 

The  race  was  disastrous  ;  out  of  the  seventeen  riders, 
more  than  half  were  thrown  and  hurt.  Toward  the  end 
the  excitement  became  intense,  the  more  because  the 
emperor  was  displeased. 


All  were  loudly  expressing  their  dissatisfaction,  and 
the  phrase  was  going  the  rounds,  "  Now  only  the  lions 
are  left  in  the  arena  ; "  and  when  Vronsky  fell,  horror 
was  felt  by  all,  and  Anna  groaned  in  dismay.  In  this 
there  was  nothing  extraordinary.  But,  from  thence  on, 
a  change  which  was  positively  improper  had  come  over 
her  face,  and  she  entirely  lost  her  presence  of  mind. 
She  tried  to  escape,  like  a  bird  caught  in  a  snare. 
Thus  she  struggled  to  arise,  and  to  get  away ;  and 
then  she  cried  to  Betsy:  — 

"  Come,  let  us  go,  let  us  go !  " 

But  Betsy  did  not  hear  her.  She  was  leaning  over, 
engaged  in  lively  conversation  with  a  general  who  had 
just  entered  the  pavilion. 


AlekseT  Aleksandrovitch  hastened  to  his  wife,  and 
courteously  offered  her  his  arm. 

"  Come,  if  it  is  your  wish  to  go,"  said  he,  in  French ; 
but  Anna  was  listening  eagerly  to  what  the  general 
said,  and  paid  no  attention  to  her  husband. 

**  He  has  broken  his  leg,  they  say ;  but  this  is  not 
at  all  likely,"  said  the  general. 

Anna  did  not  look  at  her  husband  ;  but,  taking  her 
glass,  she  gazed  at  the  place  where  Vronsky  had 
fallen.  It  was  so  distant,  and  the  crowd  was  so  dense, 
that  she  could  not  make  anything  out  of  it.  She 
dropped  her  binocle,  and  started  to  go ;  but  at  that 
instant  an  officer  came  galloping  up  to  make  some 
report  to  the  emperor.  Anna  leaned  forward,  and 

"  Stiva !  Stiva !  "  she  cried  to  her  brother. 

He  did  not  hear  her. 

She  again  made  an  effort  to  leave  the  pavilion. 

"  I  again  offer  you  my  arm,  if  you  wish  to  go,"  re- 
peated Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch,  touching  her  hand. 

Anna  drew  back  from  him  with  aversion,  and  replied 
without  looking  at  him  :  — 

**  No,  no  ;  leave  me  ;  I  am  going  to  stay." 

She  now  saw  an  officer  riding  at  full  speed  across  the 
race-course  from  the  place  of  the  accident  to  the  pavilion. 
Betsy  beckoned  to  him  with  her  handkerchief ;  the  offi- 
cer brought  the  news  that  the  rider  was  uninjured  but 
the  horse  had  broken  her  back. 

When  she  heard  this,  Anna  quickly  sat  down,  and  hid 
her  face  behind  her  fan.  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch 
noticed,  not  only  that  she  was  weeping,  but  that  she 
could  not  keep  back  the  tears  or  even  control  the  sobs 
that  heaved  her  bosom.  He  stepped  in  front  of  her  to 
shield  her  from  the  public  gaze  and  give  her  a  chance 
to  regain  her  self-command. 

"  For  the  third  time  I  offer  you  my  arm,"  said  he, 
turning  to  her  at  the  end  of  a  few  moments. 

Anna  looked  at  him,  not  knowing  what  to  say.  The 
Princess  Betsy  came  to  her  aid. 

"  No,  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch.     I  brought  Anna,  and 


I  will  be  responsible  for  bringing  her  home,"  said  Betsy, 

"  Excuse  me,  princess,"  he  replied,  politely  smiling, 
and  looking  her  full  in  the  face ;  "  but  I  see  that  she  is 
not  well,  and  I  wish  her  to  go  with  me." 

Anna  looked  round  in  terror,  and,  rising  hastily,  took 
her  husband's  arm. 

"I  will  send  to  inquire  for  him,  and  let  you  know," 
whispered  Betsy. 

As  Aleksei'  Aleksandrovitch  left  the  pavilion  with  his 
wife,  he  spoke  in  his  ordinary  manner  to  all  whom  he 
met,  and  Anna  was  forced  to  listen  and  to  reply  as 
usual ;  but  she  was  not  herself,  and  as  in  a  dream  she 
passed  along  on  her  husband's  arm. 

"  Is  he  killed,  or  not  ?  Can  it  be  true  .-*  Will  he 
come  .''     Shall  I  see  him  to-day  .-*  "  she  asked  herself. 

In  silence  she  got  into  AlekseY  Aleksandrovitch's 
carriage,  and  she  sat  in  silence  as  they  left  the  throng 
of  vehicles.  In  spite  of  all  he  had  seen,  Alekseif  Alek- 
sandrovitch did  not  allow  himself  to  think  of  his  wife's 
present  attitude.  He  saw  only  the  external  signs.  He 
saw  that  her  deportment  had  been  improper,  and  he  felt 
obliged  to  speak  to  her  about  it.  But  it  was  very  diffi- 
cult not  to  say  more,  —  to  say  only  that.  He  opened 
his  mouth  to  tell  her  how  improperly  she  had  behaved  ; 
but,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  said  something  absolutely 

"How  strange  that  we  all  like  to  see  these  cruel 
spectacles!     I  notice...." 

"  What  ?  I  did  not  understand  you,"  said  Anna, 

He  was  wounded,  and  instantly  began  to  say  what 
was  on  his  mind.    . 

"  I  am  obliged  to  tell  you ...."  he  began. 

"Now,"  thought  Anna,  "comes  the  explanation  ;"  and 
a  terrible  feeling  came  over  her. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  tell  you  that  your  conduct  to-day 
has  been  extremely  improper,"  said  he,  in  French. 

"Wherein  has  my  conduct  been  improper .!*"  she 
demanded  angrily,  raising  her  head  quickly,  and  look- 


ing  him  straight  in  the  eyes,  no  longer  hiding  her  feel- 
ings under  a  mask  of  gayety,  but  putting  on  a  bold 
front,  under  which,  with  difficulty,  she  hid  her  fears. 

"  Be  careful,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  open  window 
behind  the  coachman's  back. 

He  leaned  forward  and  raised  the  pane. 

"What  impropriety  did  you  remark?"  she  asked 

"  The  despair  which  you  took  no  pains  to  conceal 
when  one  of  the  riders  was  thrown." 

He  awaited  her  answer ;  but  she  said  nothing,  and 
looked  straight  ahead. 

**  I  have  already  requested  you  so  to  behave  when  in 
society  that  evil  tongues  cannot  find  anything  to  say 
against  you.  There  was  a  time  when  I  spoke  of  your 
inner  feelings  ;  I  now  say  nothing  about  them.  Now  I 
speak  only  of  outward  appearances.  You  have  behaved 
improperly,  and  I  would  ask  you  not  to  let  this  happen 

She  did  not  hear  half  of  his  words ;  she  felt  over- 
whelmed with  fear ;  and  she  thought  only  of  Vronsky, 
and  whether  he  was  killed.  Was  it  he  who  was  meant 
when  they  said  the  rider  was  safe  but  the  horse  had 
broken  her  back .-' 

When  Aleksei'  Aleksandrovitch  ceased  speaking,  she 
looked  at  him  with  an  ironical  smile,  and  answered  not 
a  word,  because  she  had  not  noticed  what  he  said.  At 
first  he  had  spoken  boldly  ;  but  as  he  saw  clearly  what 
he  was  speaking  about,  the  terror  which  possessed  her 
seized  him  also.  He  noticed  that  smile  of  hers,  and  it 
led  him  into  a  strange  mistake. 

"  She  is  amused  at  my  suspicions !  She  is  going  to 
tell  me  now  what  she  once  before  said,  that  there  is  no 
foundation  for  them,  that  this  is  absurd." 

Now  when  the  discovery  of  the  whole  thing  hung 
over  him,  he  desired  nothing  so  much  as  that  she  should 
answer  derisively  as  she  had  done  before,  that  his  sus- 
picions were  ridiculous  and  had  no  foundation.  What 
he  now  knew  was  so  terrible  to  him  that  he  was  ready 
to  believe  anything  that  she  might  say.     But  the  ex' 


pression  of  her  gloomy  and  frightened  face  now  allowed 
him  no  further  chance  of  falsehood. 

"Possibly  I  am  mistaken,"  said  he;  "in  that  case,  I 
beg  you  to  forgive  me." 

"No,  you  are  not  mistaken,"  she  replied,  with  meas- 
ured words,  casting  a  look  of  despair  on  her  husband's 
icy  face.  "  You  are  not  mistaken ;  I  was  in  despair, 
and  I  could  not  help  being.  I  hear  you,  but  I  am  think- 
ing only  of  him.  I  love  him,  I  am  his  mistress.  I  can- 
not endure  you,  I  fear  you,  I  hate  you!....  Do  with  me 
what  you  please  !  " 

And,  throwing  herself  into  a  corner  of  the  carriage, 
she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  burst  into  tears. 

AlekseY  Aleksandrovitch  did  not  move,  or  change  the 
direction  of  his  eyes  ;  but  his  whole  face  suddenly  as- 
sumed the  solemn  rigidity  of  a  corpse,  and  this  expres- 
sion remained  unchanged  throughout  the  drive  to  the 
datcha.  As  they  reached  the  house,  he  turned  his  head 
to  her  still  with  the  same  expression. 

"  So  !  but  I  insist  on  the  preservation  of  appearances 
until"  —  and  here  his  voice  trembled  —  "I  decide  on 
the  measures  which  I  shall  take  to  save  my  honor  and 
communicate  them  to  you." 

He  stepped  out  of  the  carriage,  and  assisted  Anna 
out.  Then,  in  presence  of  the  domestics,  he  shook 
hands  with  her,  reentered  the  carriage,  and  drove  back 
to  Petersburg. 

He  had  just  gone,  when  a  lackey  from  Betsy  brought 
a  note  to  Anna  :  — 

"  I  sent  to  Alekser  Vronsky  to  learn  how  he  was. 
He  writes  me  that  he  is  safe  and  sound,  but  in  despair." 

"Then  he  will  come,"  she  thought.  "How  well  I 
did  to  tell  him  all !  " 

She  looked  at  her  watch ;  scarcely  three  hours  had 
passed  since  she  saw  him,  but  the  memory  of  their 
interview  made  her  heart  hot  within  her. 

"Bozhe  molf!    how  light  it  is!     It  is  terrible!  but  I 

love  to  see  his  face,  and  I  love  this  fantastic  light 

My  husband  !  oh  !  yes  !  ....well!  thank  God  it  is  all  over 
with  him  1 " 



As  in  all  places  where  human  beings  congregate,  so 
in  the  little  German  village  where  the  Shcherbatskys 
went  to  take  the  waters,  there  is  formed  a  sort  of  social 
crystallization  which  puts  every  one  in  his  exact  and  un- 
changeable place.  Just  as  a  drop  of  water  exposed  to 
the  cold  always  and  invariably  takes  a  certain  crystalline 
form,  so  each  new  individual  coming  to  the  Spa  immedi- 
ately finds  himself  fixed  in  the  place  peculiar  to  him. 

"  Fiirst  Schtscherbatzsky  sammt  Gemahlin  und  Toch- 
ter,"  —  Prince  Shcherbatsky,  wife,  and  daughter,  —  both 
by  the  apartments  that  they  occupied,  and  by  their  name 
and  the  acquaintances  that  they  found,  immediately 
crystallized  into  the  exact  place  that  was  predestined  to 
receive  them. 

This  year  a  genuine  German  Furstin,  or  princess,  was 
at  the  Spa,  and  in  consequence  the  crystallization  of 
society  took  place  even  more  energetically  than  usual. 
The  Russian  princess  felt  called  on  to  present  her 
daughter  to  the  German  princess,  and  the  ceremony 
took  place  two  days  after  their  arrival.  Kitty,  dressed 
in  a  very  simple  toilet,  that  is  to  say,  a  very  elegant 
summer  costume  imported  from  Paris,  made  a  low  and 
graceful  courtesy.     The  Furstin  said  :  — 

"  I  hope  that  the  roses  will  soon  bloom  again  in  this 
pretty  little  face." 

And  immediately  the  Shcherbatsky  family  found  them- 
selves in  the  fixed  and  definite  walk  in  life  from  which 
it  was  impossible  to  descend.  They  made  the  acquain- 
tance of  the  family  of  an  English  Lady,  of  a  German 
Grdfin,  and  her  son  who  had  been  wounded  in  the  late 
war,  of  a  scientific  man  from  Sweden,  and  of  a  M.  Canut 
and  his  sister. 

But,  for  the  most  part,  the  Shcherbatskys  spontane- 
ously formed  social  relations  among  the  people  from 
Moscow,  among  them  Marya  Yevgenyevna  Rtishchevaya 
and  her  daughter,  whom  Kitty  did  not  like  because  she 
likewise  was  ill  on  account  of  a  love-affair,  and  a  Mos 


cow  colonel  whom  she  had  seen  in  society  since  child- 
hood, and  known  by  his  uniform  and  his  epaulets,  and 
who  now,  with  his  little  eyes,  and  his  bare  neck  and 
flowery  cravats,  seemed  to  Kitty  supremely  ridiculous, 
and  the  more  unendurable  because  she  could  not  get  rid 
of  him.  When  they  were  all  established,  it  became  very 
tiresome  to  Kitty,  the  more  as  her  father  had  gone  to 
Carlsbad,  and  she  and  her  mother  were  left  alone.  She 
could  not  interest  herself  in  her  old  acquaintances,  be- 
cause she  knew  that  she  should  not  find  anything  novel 
in  them  ;  and  so  her  principal  arnusement  was  in  study- 
ing the  people  whom  she  had  never  seen  before.  It  was 
in  accordance  with  Kitty's  nature  to  see  the  best  side 
of  people,  especially  of  strangers  ;  and  now,  in  making 
her  surmises  about  the  persons  whom  she  saw,  —  who 
they  were  and  what  they  were  like  and  what  relation- 
ship they  bore  to  one  another,  —  she  amused  herself  in 
imagining  the  most  wonderful  and  beautiful  characters, 
and  found  justification  for  her  observations. 

Of  all  these  people,  there  was  one  in  whom  she  took 
a  most  lively  interest :  this  was  a  young  Russian  girl 
who  had  come  to  the  baths  with  a  sick  Russian  lady 
named  Madame  Stahl.  Madame  Stahl  belonged  to  the 
high  nobility  ;  but  she  was  so  ill  that  she  could  not 
walk,  and  only  occasionally,  on  very  fine  days,  appeared 
at  the  baths  in  a  wheeled-chair.  But  it  was  rather  from 
pride  than  illness,  as  the  princess  judged,  that  she 
failed  to  make  any  acquaintances  among  the  Russians. 
The  girl  was  her  nurse ;  and,  as  Kitty  remarked,  she 
frequently  went  to  those  who  were  seriously  ill, — and 
there  were  many  at  the  baths, — and  with  the  most 
natural,  unaffected  zeal,  took  care  of  them. 

This  young  Russian  girl,  Kitty  discovered  to  her  sur- 
prise, was  no  relation  to  Madame  Stahl,  nor  even  a  hired 
companion.  Madame  Stahl  called  her  simply  Varenka, 
but  her  friends  called  her  "  Mademoiselle  Varenka." 
Kitty  not  only  found  it  extremely  interesting  to  study 
the  relations  between  this  young  girl  and  Madame 
Stahl,  and  other  persons  whom  she  did  not  know,  but, 
as  often  happens,  she  also  felt  an  unaccountable  sym- 


pathy  drawing  her  toward  Mademoiselle  Varenka  ;  and, 
when  their  eyes  met,  she  imagined  that  it  pleased  her  also. 

This  Mademoiselle  Varenka  was  not  only  no  longer  in 
her  first  youth,  but  she  seemed  like  a  creature  without 
any  youth  ;  her  age  might  be  guessed  as  either  nineteen 
or  thirty.  If  one  analyzed  her  features,  she  was  rather 
good-looking  in  spite  of  the  sickly  pallor  of  her  face. 
If  her  head  had  not  been  rather  large,  and  her  figure 
too  slight,  she  would  have  been  considered  handsome  ; 
but  she  was  not  one  to  please  men  ;  she  made  one  think 
of  a  beautiful  flower,  which,  though  still  preserving  its 
petals,  was  faded  and  without  perfume.  There  was  one 
other  reason  why  she  could  not  be  attractive  to  men, 
and  that  was  the  fact  that  she  lacked  exactly  what  Kitty 
had  in  excess  —  the  repressed  fire  of  life  and  a  con- 
sciousness of  her  fascination. 

Varenka  seemed  always  absorbed  in  some  important 
work ;  and  therefore  it  seemed  she  could  not  take  any 
interest  in  anything  irrelevant.  It  was  this  very  con- 
trast to  herself  that  especially  attracted  Kitty  to  her. 
Kitty  felt  that  in  her  and  in  her  mode  of  life  she  might 
find  what  she  was  seeking  with  so  much  trouble,  —  an 
interest  in  life,  the  dignity  of  life  outside  of  the  social 
relationships  of  young  women  to  young  men,  which 
now  seemed  to  Kitty  like  an  ignominious  exposure  of 
merchandise  waiting  for  a  purchaser.  The  more  she 
studied  her  unknown  friend,  the  more  convinced  she 
became  that  this  girl  was  the  most  perfect  creature 
which  she  could  imagine  and  the  more  she  longed  to 
become  acquainted  with  her. 

The  two  girls  passed  each  other  many  times  every 
day ;  and  every  time  they  met  Kitty's  eyes  seemed 
always  to  ask  :  "  Who  are  you  ?  What  are  you  ?  Are 
you  not,  in  truth,  the  charming  person  that  I  imagine 
you  to  be  ?  But  for  Heaven's  sake,"  the  look  seemed 
to  add,  "don't  think  that  I  would  permit  myself  to 
demand  your  acquaintance !  I  simply  admire  you,  and 
love  you." 

"  I  also  love  you,  and  you  are  very,  very  charming  ; 
and  I  would  love  you  still  better,  if  I  had  time,"  replied 


the  unknown  maiden's  look  ;  and  indeed  Kitty  saw  that 
she  was  always  busy.  Either  she  was  taking  the  chil- 
dren of  a  Russian  family  home  from  the  baths,  or  carry- 
ing a  plaid  for  an  invalid  and  wrapping  her  up  in  it, 
or  she  was  trying  to  divert  some  irritable  sick  man,  or 
selecting  and  buying  confections  for  some  other  sick 

One  morning,  soon  after  the  arrival  of  the  Shcher- 
batskys,  two  new  persons  appeared  who  immediately 
became  the  object  of  rather  unfriendly  criticism.  The 
one  was  a  very  tall,  stooping  man,  with  enormous  hands, 
black  eyes,  at  once  innocent  and  terrifying,  and  wearing 
an  old,  ill-fitting,  short  coat.  The  other  was  a  pock- 
marked woman,  with  a  kindly  face,  and  dressed  very 
badly  and  inartistically. 

Kitty  instantly  recognized  that  they  were  Russians ; 
and  in  her  imagination  set  to  work  constructing  a 
beautiful  and  touching  romance  about  them.  But  the 
princess,  learning  by  the  kurliste,  or  list  of  arrivals, 
that  this  was  Nikolai  Levin  and  Marya  Nikolayevna, 
explained  to  her  what  a  bad  man  this  Levin  was,  and 
all  her  illusions  about  these  two  persons  vanished. 

The  fact  that  he  was  Konstantin  Levin's  brother, 
even  more  than  her  mother's  words,  suddenly  made 
these  two  people  particularly  repulsive  to  Kitty.  This 
Levin,  with  his  habit  of  twitching  his  head,  aroused  in 
her  an  unsurmountable  feeling  of  repulsion.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  in  his  great,  wild  eyes,  as  they  persistently 
followed  her,  was  expressed  a  sentiment  of  hatred  and 
irony,  and  she  tried  to  avoid  meeting  hint 


It  was  a  stormy  day ;  the  rain  fell  all  the  morning, 
and  the  invalids  with  umbrellas  thronged  the  gallery. 

Kitty  and  her  mother,  accompanied  by  the  Muscovite 
colonel  playing  the  elegant  in  his  European  overcoat, 
bought  ready-made  in  Frankfort,  were  walking  on  one 
side  of  the  gallery,  in  order  to  avoid  Nikolaif  Levin,  who 


was  on  the  other.  Varenka,  in  her  dark  dress  and  a 
black  hat  with  the  brim  turned  down,  was  walking  up 
and  down  the  whole  length  of  the  gallery  with  a  little 
blind  French  woman ;  each  time  that  she  and  Kitty 
met,  they  exchanged  friendly  glances. 

"  Mamma,  may  I  speak  with  her .-' "  asked  Kitty,  as 
she  happened  to  be  following  her  unknown  friend  and 
noticed  that  she  was  approaching  the  spring,  where  they 
might  meet. 

"  Yes,  if  you  wish  it  so  much.  I  will  inquire  about 
her,  and  make  her  acquaintance  first,"  said  her  mother. 
"  But  what  do  you  find  especially  interesting  in  her } 
She  is  only  a  lady's  companion.  If  you  like,  I  can 
speak  to  Madame  Stahl.  I  knew  her  belle-sceur,''  added 
the  princess,  proudly  raising  her  head. 

Kitty  knew  that  her  mother  was  vexed  because 
Madame  Stahl  seemed  to  avoid  making  her  acquain- 
tance, and  she  did  not  press  the  point. 

"  How  wonderfully  charming  she  is!  "  said  she,  as  she 
saw  Varenka  give  the  blind  French  lady  a  glass.  "  See 
how  lovely  and  gentle  everything  is  that  she  does." 

"  You  amuse  me  with  your  engouements,"  replied  the 
princess.  "  No,  we  had  better  go  back,"  she  added,  as 
she  saw  Levin  approaching  with  Marya  and  a  German 
doctor,  with  whom  he  was  speaking  in  a  loud  and  angry 

As  they  turned  to  go  back,  suddenly  they  heard,  not  loud 
voices,  but  a  cry.  Levin  had  stopped,  and  was  shriek- 
ing. The  doctor  was  also  angry.  A  crowd  was  gather- 
ing around  them.  The  princess  and  Kitty  hurried  away, 
but  the  colonel  joined  the  throng  to  find  out  what  the 
trouble  was.  After  a  few  moments  the  colonel  came 
back  to  them. 

"  What  was  it  .-*  "  asked  the  princess. 

"  It  is  a  shame  and  a  disgrace,"  replied  the  colonel. 
"There  's  only  one  thing  you  need  to  fear,  and  that  is  to 
meet  with  Russians  abroad.  This  tall  gentleman  was 
quarreling  with  his  doctor,  heaped  indignities  upon  him 
for  not  attending  to  him  as  he  wished,  and  finally  he 
threatened  him  with  his  cane.     It  is  simply  disgraceful." 


*'  Akh  !  how  unpleasant !  "  said  the  princess.  "  Well, 
how  did  it  end  ?  " 

"  Fortunately  that ....  that  girl  with  a  hat  like  a  toad- 
stool interfered.     A  Russian,  it  seems,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Mademoiselle  Varenka  .''  "  joyously  exclaimed  Kitty. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  She  went  quicker  than  any  one  else,  and 
took  the  gentleman  by  the  arm,  and  led  him  off." 

"There,  mamma!"  said  Kitty,  "and  you  wonder  at 
my  enthusiasm  for  Varenka  !  " 

The  next  morning  Kitty,  watching  her  unknown 
friend,  noticed  that  Mademoiselle  Varenka  had  the 
same  relations  with  Levin  and  Marya  as  with  her  other 
proteges:  she  joined  them  and  talked  with  them,  and 
acted  as  interpreter  to  the  woman,  who  did  not  know 
any  language  besides  her  own. 

Kitty  again  begged  her  mother  even  more  urgently 
to  let  her  become  acquainted  with  Varenka  ;  and  though 
it  was  unpleasant  to  the  princess  to  seem  to  be  making 
advances  to  the  haughty  and  exclusive  Madame  Stahl, 
she  made  some  inquiries  about  Varenka,  and  learning 
enough  to  satisfy  herself  that  there  was  no  possible 
harm,  though  very  little  that  was  advantageous,  in  the 
proposed  acquaintance,  she  went  first  to  Varenka  and 
introduced  herself. 

Choosing  a  time  when  Kitty  was  at  the  spring,  and 
Varenka  was  opposite  the  baker's,  the  princess  went  up 
to  her. 

"Allow  me  to  introduce  myself,"  said  she,  with  her 
dignified  smile.  "  My  daughter  has  taken  a  great  fancy 
to  you.     But  perhaps  you  do  not  know  me.     I...." 

"  It  is  more  than  reciprocal,  princess,"  replied  Varenka, 

"What  a  good  thing  you  did  yesterday  toward  our 
wretched  fellow-countryman,"  said  the  princess. 

Varenka  blushed. 

"  I  do  not  remember,"  she  replied.  "  I  don't  think  I 
did  anything." 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  you  saved  this  Levin  from  an  unpleasant 

"  Ah,  yes  !  sa  compagne  called  me,  and  I  tried  to  calm 


him  ;  he  is  very  sick,  and  dissatisfied  with  his  doctor. 
I  am  quite  used  to  this  kind  of  invalids." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  have  heard  that  you  live  at  Mentone 
with  your  aunt,  Madame  Stahl.  I  used  to  know  her 

"  No,  Madame  Stahl  is  not  my  aunt.  I  call  her 
maman,  but  I  am  no  relation  to  her.  I  was  brought  up 
by  her,"  replied  Varenka,  again  blushing. 

All  this  was  said  with  perfect  simplicity ;  and  the 
expression  of  her  pleasing  face  was  so  frank  and  sin- 
cere, that  the  princess  began  to  understand  why  Kitty 
was  so  charmed  by  this  Varenka. 

"  Well,  what  is  this  Levin  going  to  do  ? "  she  asked. 

"He  is  going  away." 

At  this  moment,  Kitty,  radiant  with  pleasure  because 
her  mother  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  her  unknown 
friend,  came  in  from  the  spring. 

"  See  here  !  Kitty,  your  ardent  desire  to  know  Made- 

"  Varenka,"  said  the  girl,  smiling.  "  Every  one  calls 
me  so." 

Kitty  was  flushed  with  delight,  and  without  speaking 
long  pressed  her  new  friend's  hand,  which  gave  no  an- 
swering pressure,  but  lay  passive  in  hers.  Her  hand 
gave  no  answering  pressure,  but  Mademoiselle  Varenka's 
face  shone  with  a  quiet,  joyous,  though  melancholy  smile, 
which  showed  her  large  but  handsome  teeth. 

"  I  have  been  longing  to  know  you,"  she  said. 

"  But  you  are  so  busy...," 

•'  Oh  !  on  the  contrary,  I  have  n't  anything  to  do," 
replied  Varenka;  but  at  the  same  instant  she  had  to 
leave  her  new  acquaintances  because  two  little  Russian 
girls,  the  daughters  of  an  invalid,  ran  to  her. 

"Varenka,  mamma  is  calling,"  they  cried. 

And  Varenka  followed  them. 



The  particulars  which  the  princess  learned  about 
Varenka's  past  life,  and  her  relations  with  Madame 
Stahl,  and  about  Madame  Stahl  herself,  were  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

Madame  Stahl  had  always  been  a  sickly  and  excitable 
woman,  who  was  said  by  some  to  have  tormented  the 
life  out  of  her  husband,  and  by  others  to  have  been  tor- 
mented by  his  unnatural  behavior.  After  she  was 
divorced  from  her  husband,  she  gave  birth  to  her  first 
child,  which  did  not  live ;  and  Madame  Stahl's  parents, 
knowing  her  sensitiveness,  and  fearing  that  the  shock 
would  kill  her,  substituted  for  the  dead  child  the 
daughter  of  a  court  cook,  born  on  the  same  night,  and 
in  the  same  house  at  Petersburg.  This  was  Varenka. 
Madame  Stahl  afterwards  learned  that  the  child  was 
not  her  own,  but  continued  to  take  charge  of  her,  the 
more  willingly  as  the  true  parents  shortly  after  died. 

For  more  than  ten  years  Madame  Stahl  lived  abroad, 
in  the  South,  never  leaving  her  bed.  Some  said  that 
she  was  a  woman  who  had  made  a  public  show  of  her 
piety  and  good  works  ;  others  said  that  she  was  at  heart 
the  most  highly  moral  of  women,  and  that  she  lived  only 
for  the  good  of  her  neighbor,  that  she  was  really  what 
she  pretended  to  be. 

No  one  knew  whether  she  was  Catholic,  Protestant, 
or  orthodox  ;  one  thing  alone  was  certain,  —  that  she  had 
friendly  relations  with  the  high  dignitaries  of  all  the 
churches  and  of  all  communions. 

Varenka  always  lived  with  Madame  Stahl  abroad ; 
and  all  who  knew  Madame  Stahl  knew  Mademoiselle 
Varenka  also,  and  loved  her.  When  she  had  learned 
all  the  particulars,  the  princess  found  nothing  objection- 
able in  her  daughter's  acquaintance  with  Varenka ;  the 
more  because  Varenka  had  the  most  cultivated  manners 
and  a  fine  education  ;  she  spoke  French  and  English 
admirably,  and  chief  of  all  she  brought  from  Ma- 
dame Stahl  her  regrets  that,  owing  to  her  illness,  she 


was  deprived  of  the  pleasure  of  making  the  princess's 

After  she  had  once  made  Varenka's  acquaintance, 
Kitty  became  more  and  more  attached  to  her  friend, 
and  each  day  discovered  some  new  charm  in  her.  The 
princess,  having  discovered  that  Varenka  sang  well,  in- 
vited her  to  come  and  give  them  an  evening  of  music. 

"  Kitty  plays,  and  we  have  a  piano  ;  not  a  very  good  in- 
strument, to  be  sure,  but  you  would  give  us  a  great  pleas- 
ure," said  the  princess,  with  her  hypocritical  smile  which 
was  displeasing  to  Kitty,  especially  as  she  knew  that 
Varenka  did  not  want  to  sing.  But  Varenka  came,  that 
same  evening,  and  brought  her  music.  The  princess 
had  invited  Marya  Yevgenyevna  and  her  daughter,  and 
the  colonel. 

Varenka  seemed  perfectly  indifferent  to  the  presence 
of  these  people,  who  were  strangers  to  her,  and  she  went 
to  the  piano  without  being  urged.  She  could  not  ac- 
company herself,  but  in  singing  she  read  the  notes  per- 
fectly.    Kitty,  who  played  very  well,  accompanied  her. 

"You  have  a  remarkable  talent,"  said  the  princess, 
after  the  first  song,  which  Varenka  sang  beautifully. 

Marya  Yevgenyevna  and  her  daughter  added  their 
compliments  and  their  thanks. 

"  See,"  said  the  colonel,  looking  out  of  the  window, 
"what  an  audience  you  have  attracted." 

In  fact,  a  large  number  of  people  had  gathered  in 
front  of  the  house. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  have  given  you  pleasure,"  said 
Varenka,  without  affectation. 

Kitty  looked  at  her  friend  proudly ;  she  admired  her 
art  and  her  voice  and  her  face,  and,  more  than  all,  she 
was  enthusiastic  over  the  way  in  which  Varenka  made 
it  evident  that  she  took  little  account  of  her  singing, 
and  was  perfectly  indifferent  to  compliments.  She 
simply  seemed  to  say,  "  Shall  I  sing  some  more,  or  is 
that  enough  ? " 

"  If  I  were  in  her  place,  how  proud  I  should  be  !  How 
happy  I  should  be  to  see  that  crowd  under  the  window ! 
But  she  seems    perfectly  unconscious  of   it.     All  that 


she  seemed  to  want  was  not  to  refuse,  but  to  please 
maman.  What  is  there  about  her  ?  What  is  it  that 
gives  her  this  power  of  indifference,  this  calmness  and 
independence  ?  How  I  should  like  to  learn  this  of  her! " 
thought  Kitty,  as  she  looked  into  her  peaceful  face. 

The  princess  asked  Varenka  to  sing  again  ;  and  she 
sang  this  time  as  well  as  the  first,  with  the  same  care 
and  the  same  perfection,  standing  erect  near  the  piano, 
and  beating  time  with  her  thin  brown  hand. 

The  next  piece  in  her  music-roll  was  an  Italian  aria. 
Kitty  played  the  introduction,  and  looked  at  Varenka. 

"  Let  us  not  do  that  one,"  said  she,  blushing. 

Kitty,  in  alarm  and  wonder,  fixed  her  eyes  on  Varenka's 

"Well!  another  one,"  she  said,  hastily  turning  the 
pages,  and  somehow  feeling  an  intuition  that  the  Italian 
song  brought  back  to  her  friend  some  painful  association. 

"  No,"  replied  Varenka,  putting  her  hand  on  the  notes 
and  smiling,  "let  us  sing  this."  And  she  sang  it  as 
calmly  and  coolly  as  the  one  before. 

After  the  singing  was  over,  they  all  thanked  her 
again,  and  went  out  into  the  dining-room  to  drink  tea. 
Kitty  and  Varenka  went  down  into  the  little  garden 
next  the  house. 

"You  had  some  association  with  that  song,  did  you 
not.?"  asked  Kitty.  "You  need  not  tell  me  about  it," 
she  hastened  to  add ;  "simply  say,  '  Yes,  I  have.'  " 

"  Why  should  I  not  tell  you  about  it }  Yes,  there  is 
an  association,"  said  Varenka,  calmly,  and  not  waiting 
for  Kitty  to  say  anything,  "and  it  is  a  painful  one,  I 
once  loved  a  man,  and  used  to  sing  that  piece  to  him." 

Kitty  with  wide-open  eyes  looked  at  Varenka  meekly,, 
but  did  not  speak. 

"I  loved  him,  and  he  loved  me  also;  but  his  mother 
was  unwilling,  and  he  married  some  one  else.  He  does 
not  live  very  far  from  us  now,  and  I  sometimes  see  him. 
You  did  n't  think  that  I  also  had  my  romance,  did  you  ? " 

And  her  face  lighted  up  with  a  rare  beauty,  and  a 
fire  such  as  Kitty  imagined  might  have  been  habitual 
in  other  days. 


"  Why  should  n't  I  have  thought  so  ?  If  I  were  a 
man  I  could  never  have  loved  any  one  else  after  know- 
ing you,"  said  Kitty.  "  What  I  cannot  conceive  is,  that 
he  was  able  to  forget  you,  and  make  you  unhappy  for 
the  sake  of  obeying  his  mother.  He  could  n't  have  had 
any  heart." 

"  Oh,  no,  he  was  an  excellent  man  ;  and  I  am  not  un- 
happy ;  on  the  contrary,  I  am  very  happy Well,  shall 

we  sing  anymore  this  evening?"  she  added,  starting 
to  go  toward  the  house. 

"  How  good  you  are !  how  good  you  are ! "  cried 
Kitty,  and  stopping  her,  she  kissed  her,  "  If  I  could 
only  be  a  bit  like  you  !  " 

"  Why  should  you  resemble  any  one  else  besides  your- 
self .'*  You  are  a  good  girl  as  you  are,"  said  Varenka, 
with  her  sweet  and  melancholy  smile. 

"No,  I  am  not  good  at  all.  Now,  tell  me....  Stay, 
stay ;  let  us  sit  down  a  little  while,"  said  Kitty,  draw- 
ing her  down  to  a  settee  near  by.  "  Tell  me  how  it  can 
be  other  than  a  pain  to  think  of  a  man  who  has  scorned 
your  love,  who  has  jilted  you...." 

*'  But  no,  he  did  not  scorn  it  at  all ;  I  am  sure  that  he 
loved  me.     But  he  was  a  dutiful  son,  and...." 

"  Yes,  but  suppose  it  had  not  been  for  his  mother's 
sake,  but  simply  of  his  own  free  will,"  said  Kitty,  feeling 
that  she  was  betraying  her  secret,  and  her  face,  glowing 
red  with  mortification,  convicted  her. 

"  Then  he  would  not  have  behaved  honorably,  and  I 
should  not  mourn  for  him,"  replied  Varenka,  perceiving 
that  the  supposition  concerned,  not  herself,  but  Kitty. 

"But  the  insult !  "  cried  Kitty.  "One  cannot  forget 
the  insult.  It  is  impossible,"  said  she,  remembering  her 
own  look  when  the  music  stopped  at  the  last  ball. 

"  Whose  insult  ?     You  did  n't  act  badly.?" 

"  Worse  than  badly,  —  shamefully  !  " 

Varenka  shook  her  head,  and  laid  her  hand  on  Kitty's. 

"  Well,  but  why  shamefully  .-* "  she  asked.  "  You 
surely  did  not  tell  a  man  who  showed  indifference  to 
you  that  you  loved  him  ?  "  ri 

"  Certainly  not ;    I   never  uttered  a  word.      But  he 

VOL.  I. — 19 


knew  it.  There  are  looks,  there  are  ways  ....  no,  no! 
not  if  I  lived  a  hundred  years  should  I  ever  forget  it." 

"  Now,  what  is  it  ?  I  don't  understand  you.  The 
question  is  solely  this :  do  you  love  him  now  or  not  .<' " 
said  Varenka,  who  liked  to  call  things  by  their  right 

"  I  hate  him.     I  cannot  forgive  myself." 

"But  what  for.?" 

"The  shame,  the  insult." 

"  Akh  !  if  every  one  were  as  sensitive  as  you  !  There 
is  never  a  young  girl  who  does  not  sometimes  feel  the 
same  way.     It  is  all  such  a  trifling  thing  !  " 

"But  what,  then,  is  important.?"  asked  Kitty,  look- 
ing at  Varenka  with  astonishment  and  curiosity. 

"  Oh  !  many  things  are  important,"  replied  Varenka, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Yes  ;  but  what  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  there  are  many  things  more  important,"  re- 
plied Varenka,  not  knowing  what  to  say ;  but  at  that 
moment  the  voice  of  the  princess  was  heard  from  the 
window  :  — 

"  Kitty,  it  is  getting  cool ;  put  on  your  shawl,  or 
come  in." 

"It  is  time  to  go,"  said  Varenka,  getting  up.  "I 
must  go  and  see  Madame  Berthe ;  she  asked  me  to 

Kitty  held  her  by  the  hand,  and  her  eyes,  full  of 
passionate,  almost  supplicating,  curiosity,  asked  her:  — 

"  What  is  it  that  is  so  important  that  can  give  such 
calm  }     You  know  ;  tell  me." 

But  Varenka  did  not  understand  the  meaning  of 
Kitty's  look.  She  remembered  only  that  she  had  still 
to  go  to  see  Madame  Berthe,  and  to  get  home  at  mid- 
night for  tea  with  manian.  She  went  back  to  the 
room,  picked  up  her  music,  and,  having  said  good-night 
to  all,  started  to  go. 

"  Allow  me ;  I  will  escort  you,"  said  the  colonel. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  princess.  "How  could  you  go 
home  alone  at  night }  I  was  going  to  send  Parasha 
with  you." 


Kitty  saw  that  Varenka  could  hardly  keep  from  smil- 
ing at  the  idea  that  she  needed  any  one  to  go  home 
with  her. 

"  No ;  I  always  go  home  alone,  and  nothing  ever 
happens  to  me,"  said  she,  taking  her  hat,  and  after 
kissing  Kitty  again,  though  she  did  not  tell  her  "  the 
one  important  thing,"  she  hurried  away  with  firm  steps, 
her  music-roll  under  her  arm,  and  disappeared  in  the 
semi-darkness  of  the  summer  night,  carrying  with  her 
her  secret  of  "  what  is  important "  and  what  gave  her 
her  enviable  calmness  and  dignity. 


Kitty  also  made  Madame  Stahl's  acquaintance,  and 
her  relations  with  this  lady  and  her  friendship  with 
Varenka  had  rrot  only  a  powerful  influence  on  her,  but 
also  soothed  her  grief. 

She  found  this  consolation  in  the  fact  that,  through 
this  friendship,  there  opened  before  her  an  entirely  new 
world,  which  had  nothing  in  common  with  her  past, — 
a  beautiful,  supernal  world,  from  the  lofty  heights  of 
which  she  could  look  down  calmly  on  her  past.  She 
discovered  that  this  world,  which  was  entirely  apart 
from  the  instinctive  life  which  she  had  hitherto  led, 
was  the  spiritual  life.  This  life  was  reached  by  re- 
ligion, —  a  religion  which  had  nothing  in  common  with 
the  religion  to  which  Kitty  had  been  accustomed  since 
infancy,  a  religion  which  consisted  of  going  to  morn- 
ing and  evening  service,  and  to  the  House  of  Widows,^ 
where  she  met  her  acquaintances,  or  of  learning  by 
heart  Slavonic  texts  with  the  parish  priest.  This  was 
a  lofty,  mystic  religion,  united  with  the  purest  thoughts 
and  feelings,  and  believed  in  not  because  one  was  com- 
manded to  do  so,  but  through  love. 

Kitty  learned  all  this,  but  not  by  words.  Madame 
Stahl  talked  to  her  as  to  a  dear  child  whom  she  loved 
as  the  type  of  her  own  youth,  and  only  once  did  she 

^  Vdovui  Dom 



make  any  allusion  to  the  consolation  brought  by  faith 
and  love  for  human  sorrows,  and  to  the  compassion 
of  Christ,  who  looked  on  no  sorrows  as  insignificant ; 
and  she  immediately  changed  the  subject. 

But  in  all  this  lady's  motions,  in  her  words,  in  her 
heavenly  looks,  as  Kitty  called  them,  and,  above  all, 
in  the  story  of  her  life,  which  she  knew  through  Va- 
renka,  Kitty  discovered  "the  important  thing"  which 
till  now  had  been  but  a  sealed  book  to  her. 

But,  lofty  as  Madame  Stahl's  character  was,  touch- 
ing as  was  her  history,  high-minded  and  affectionate 
her  discourse,  Kitty  could  not  help  noticing  certain 
peculiarities,  which  troubled  her.  One  day,  for  ex- 
ample, when  her  relatives  were  mentioned,  Madame 
Stahl  smiled  disdainfully ;  it  was  contrary  to  Christian 
charity.  Another  time  Kitty  noticed,  when  she  met 
a  Roman  Catholic  dignitary  calling  on  her,  that  Madame 
Stahl  kept  her  face  carefully  shaded  by  the  curtain,  and 
smiled  peculiarly.  Insignificant  as  these  two  incidents 
were,  they  gave  her  some  pain,  and  caused  her  to  doubt 
Madame  Stahl's  sincerity. 

Varenka,  on  the  other  hand,  alone  in  the  world,  with- 
out family  connections,  without  friends,  hoping  for 
naught,  harboring  no  ill-will  after  her  bitter  disap- 
pointment, seemed  to  her  absolute  perfection.  Through 
Varenka  she  learned  how  to  forget  herself,  and  to  love 
her  neighbor,  if  she  wanted  to  be  happy,  calm,  and 
good.  And  Kitty  did  wish  this.  And,  when  once 
she  learned  what  was  the  important  thing,  Kitty  was 
no  longer  willing  simply  to  admire,  but  gave  herself 
up  with  her  whole  heart  to  the  new  life  which  opened 
before  her.  After  the  stories  which  Varenka  told  her 
of  Madame  Stahl  and  others  whom  she  named,  Kitty 
drew  up  a  plan  for  her  coming  life.  She  decided  that, 
following  the  example  of  Aline,  Madame  Stahl's  niece, 
whom  Varenka  often  told  her  about,  she  would  visit 
the  unhappy,  no  matter  where  she  might  be  living, 
and  that  she  would  aid  them  to  the  best  of  her  ability ; 
that  she  would  distribute  the  Gospel,  read  the  New 
Testament  to  the  sick,  to  the  dying,  to  criminals :  the 


thought  of  reading  the  New  Testament  to  criminals, 
as  this  Aline  'had  done,  especially  appealed  to  Kitty. 
But  she  indulged  in  these  dreams  secretly,  without 
telling  them  to  her  mother  or  even  to  her  friend. 

However,  while  she  was  waiting  to  be  able  to  carry 
out  her  schemes  on  a  wider  scale,  it  was  easy  for  Kitty 
to  put  her  new  principles  in  practice  at  the  waters, 
even  then  and  there  at  the  Spa,  where  the  sick  and 
unhappy  are  easily  found,  and  she  did  as  Varenka  did. 

The  princess  swiftly  noticed  that  Kitty  had  fallen 
under  the  powerful  influence  of  her  engoiiement  with 
Madame  Stahl  (as  she  called  it),  and  particularly  with 
Varenka.  She  saw  that  Kitty  imitated  Varenka,  not 
only  in  her  deeds  of  charity,  but  even  in  her  gait,  in  her 
speech,  in  her  ways  of  shutting  her  eyes.  Later  she 
discovered  that  her  daughter  was  passing  through  a  sort 
of  crisis  of  the  soul  quite  independent  of  the  influence 
of  her  friends. 

The  princess  saw  that  Kitty  was  reading  the  Gospels 
evenings  in  a  French  Testament  loaned  her  by  Madame 
Stahl,  —  a  thing  which  she  had  never  done  before. 
She  also  noticed  that  she  avoided  her  society  friends, 
and  gave  her  time  to  the  sick  under  Varenka's  care,  and 
particularly  to  the  poor  family  of  a  sick  painter  named 

Kitty  seemed  proud  to  fill,  in  this  household,  the 
functions  of  a  sister  of  charity.  All  this  was  very 
good ;  and  the  princess  had  no  fault  to  find  with  it,  and 
opposed  it  all  the  less  from  the  fact  that  Petrof's  wife 
was  a  woman  of  good  family,  and  that  one  day  the 
Filvstin,  noticing  Kitty's  charitable  activity,  had  praised 
her,  and  called  her  the  "  ministering  angel."  All  would 
have  been  very  good  if  it  had  not  been  carried  to  ex- 
cess. But  the  princess  saw  that  her  daughter  was  going 
to  extremes,  so  she  spoke  to  her  about  it. 

"//  ne  faut  rien  outrer —  One  must  never  go  to  ex- 
tremes," she  said  to  her. 

But  her  daughter  made  no  reply  ;  she  only  questioned 
from  the  bottom  of  her  heart  whether  one  could  ever 
talk  about  going  to  extremes  in  the  matter  of  religion. 


How  could  there  be  any  possibility  of  extremes  in  follow- 
ing teachings  which  bid  you  offer  your  left  cheek  when 
the  right  has  been  struck,  and  to  give  your  shirt  when 
your  cloak  is  taken  from  you  ?  But  the  princess  was 
displeased  with  this  tendency  to  exaggeration,  and  she 
was  still  more  displeased  to  feel  that  Kitty  was  unwill- 
ing to  open  her  heart  to  her.  In  point  of  fact,  Kitty 
kept  secret  from  her  mother  her  new  views  and  feelings. 
She  kept  them  secret,  not  because  she  lacked  affection 
or  respect  for  her  mother,  but  simply  because  she  was 
her  mother.  It  would  have  been  easier  to  confess  them 
to  a  stranger  than  to  her  mother. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  Anna  Pavlovna  has  been  to 
see  us,"  said  the  princess  one  day,  speaking  of  Madame 
Petrof.  "  I  invited  her  to  come,  but  she  seems  of- 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,  maman,"  reiplied  Kitty,  with  a 
guilty  look. 

"  You  have  not  been  with  her  lately,  have  you  .'' " 

•'  We  planned  a  walk  on  the  mountain  for  to-morrow," 
said  Kitty. 

"I  see  no  objection,"  replied  the  princess,  noticing 
her  daughter's  confusion,  and  trying  to  fathom  the 

That  same  day  Varenka  came  to  dinner  and  an- 
nounced that  Anna  Pavlovna  had  given  up  the  proposed 
expedition.  The  princess  noticed  that  Kitty  again 

"  Kitty,  has  there  been  anything  unpleasant  between 
you  and  the  Petrofs } "  she  asked,  as  soon  as  they  were 
alone.  "  Why  have  they  ceased  to  send  their  children, 
or  to  come  themselves  .■*  " 

Kitty  replied  that  nothing  had  happened,  and  that  she 
really  did  not  understand  why  Anna  Pavlovna  seemed 
to  be  angry  with  her ;  and  she  told  the  truth.  She  did 
not  know  the  reasons  for  the  change  in  Madame  Petrof, 
but  she  suspected  them,  and  thus  also  she  suspected  a 
thing  which  she  dared  not  to  confess,  even  to  herself, 
still  less  to  her  mother.  This  was  one  of  those  things 
which  you  know,  but  which  are  impossible  to  speak  even 


to  yourself,  so  humiliating  and  painful  would  it  be  if 
you  are  mistaken. 

Again  and  again  she  passed  in  review  all  the  mem- 
ories of  her  relations  with  this  family.  She  remembered 
the  innocent  joy  which  shone  on  Anna  Pavlovna's 
honest,  round  face  when  they  first  met ;  she  remembered 
their  secret  discussions  to  find  means  to  distract  the 
invalid,  and  keep  him  from  the  forbidden  work,  and  to 
get  him  out  of  doors  ;  the  attachment  of  the  youngest 
child,  who  called  her  Moya  Kiti,  and  would  not  go  to 
bed  without  her.  How  beautiful  everything  was  at  that 
time !  Then  she  remembered  Petrof's  thin  face,  his 
long  neck,  stretching  out  from  his  brown  coat ;  his  thin, 
curly  hair ;  his  blue  eyes,  with  their  questioning  look, 
which  she  had  feared  at  first ;  his  painful  efforts  to  seem 
lively  and  energetic  when  she  was  near ;  she  recalled 
the  effort  that  she  had  to  make  at  first  to  overcome  the 
repugnance  which  he,  as  well  as  all  consumptives,  caused 
her  to  feel ;  and  the  trouble  which  she  had  in  finding 
something  to  talk  with  him  about. 

She  remembered  the  sick  man's  humble  and  timid  looks 
when  he  saw  her,  and  the  strange  feeling  of  compassion 
and  awkwardness  which  came  over  her  at  first,  followed 
by  the  pleasant  consciousness  of  her  charitable  deeds. 
How  lovely  it  all  had  been  !  but  it  lasted  only  for  a 
brief  moment.  Now  and  for  several  days  there  had 
been  a  sudden  change.  Anna  Pavlovna  received  Kitty 
with  pretended  friendliness,  and  did  not  cease  to  watch 
her  and  her  husband. 

Could  it  be  that  the  invalid's  pathetic  joy  at  the  sight 
of  her  was  the  cause  of  Anna- Pavlovna's  coolness  .-' 

"Yes,"  she  said  to  herself,  "there  was  something 
unnatural  and  quite  different  from  her  ordinary  sweet 
temper  when  she  said  to  me,  day  before  yesterday, 
sharply,  'There!  he  will  not  do  anything  without  you; 
he  would  not  even  take  his  coffee,  though  he  was  awfully 

"  Yes !  perhaps  it  was  not  agreeable  to  her  when  I 
gave  him  his  plaid.  It  was  such  a  simple  little  thing  to 
do ;  but  he  seemed  so  strange,  and  thanked  me  so  warmly, 


that  I  felt  ill  at  ease.  And  then  that  portrait  of  me 
which  he  painted  so  well ;  but,  above  all,  his  gentle  and 
melancholy  look.  Yes,  yes,  it  must  be  so,"  Kitty  re- 
peated with  horror.  "  No,  it  cannot  be,  it  must  not  be ! 
He  is  to  be  pitied  so ! "  she  added,  in  her  secret  heart. 
This  suspicion  poisoned  the  pleasure  of  her  new  life. 


Just  before  their  season  at  the  Spa  was  over.  Prince 
Shcherbatsky  rejoined  them.  He  had  been  to  Carlsbad, 
to  Baden,  and  to  Kissingen,  with  Russian  friends,  —  "  to 
get  a  breath  of  Russian  air,"  as  he  expressed  it. 

The  prince  and  princess  had  conflicting  ideas  in  re- 
gard to  living  abroad.  The  princess  thought  that  every- 
thing was  lovely  ;  and,  notwithstanding  her  assured  posi- 
tion in  Russian  society,  while  she  was  abroad  she  put 
on  the  airs  of  a  European  lady  which  she  was  not,  for 
she  was  in  every  way  a  genuine  Russian  baruinya.  The 
prince,  on  the  other  hand,  considered  everything  abroad 
detestable,  and  the  European  life  unendurable ;  and  he 
even  exaggerated  his  Russian  characteristics,  and  tried 
to  be  less  of  a  European  than  he  really  was. 

He  came  back  emaciated  and  with  drooping  sacks 
under  his  eyes,  but  in  the  happiest  spirits ;  and  his 
happy  frame  of  mind  was  still  further  enhanced  when 
he  found  that  Kitty  was  on  the  road  to  health. 

The  accounts  that  he  heard  of  Kitty's  intimacy  with 
Madame  Stahl  and  Varenka,  and  the  princess's  de- 
scription of  the  moral  transformation  through  which  his 
daughter  was  passing,  rather  vexed  the  prince,  awaking 
in  him  that  feeling  of  jealousy  which  he  always  had  in 
regard  to  everything  that  might  draw  Kitty  away  from 
under  his  influence.  He  was  afraid  that  she  might 
ascend  to  regions  unattainable  to  him.  But  these  dis- 
agreeable presentiments  were  swallowed  up  in  the  sea 
of  gayety  and  good  humor  which  he  always  carried  with 
him,  and  which  his  sojourn  at  Carlsbad  had  increased. 

The  day  after  his  arrival,  the  prince,  in  his  long  pale- 


tot,  and  with  his  Russian  wrinkles  and  his  puffy  cheeks 
standing  out  above  his  stiffly  starched  collar,  went  in 
the  very  best  of  spirits  with  Kitty  to  the  spring. 

The  morning  was  beautiful.  The  neat,  gay  houses, 
with  their  little  gardens,  the  sight  of  the  German  ser- 
vants, with  their  red  faces  and  red  arms,  happily  work- 
ing, the  brilliant  sun,  —  everything  filled  the  heart  with 
pleasure.  But  as  they  came  nearer  to  the  spring  they 
met  more  and  more  invalids,  whose  lamentable  appear- 
ance contrasted  painfully  with  the  trim  and  beneficent 
German  surroundings. 

For  Kitty  the  bright  sunlight,  the  vivid  green  of  the 
trees,  the  sounds  of  the  music,  all  formed  a  natural 
framework  for  these  well-known  faces,  whose  changes 
for  better  or  worse  she  had  been  watching.  But  for 
the  prince  there  was  something  cruel  in  the  contrast 
between  this  bright  June  morning,  the  orchestra  play- 
ing the  latest  waltz,  and  especially  the  sight  of  these 
healthy-looking  servants,  and  the  miserable  invalids, 
from  all  the  corners  of  Europe,  dragging  themselves 
painfully  along. 

In  spite  of  the  return  of  his  youth  which  the  prince 
experienced,  and  the  pride  that  he  felt  in  having  his 
favorite  daughter  on  his  arm,  he  confessed  to  a  sense 
of  shame  and  awkwardness  in  walking  along  with  his 
firm  step  and  his  vigorous  limbs, 

'*  Introduce  me,  introduce  me  to  your  new  friends," 
said  he  to  his  daughter,  pressing  her  arm  with  his  elbow. 
"  I  am  beginning  to  like  your  abominable  Soden  for  the 
good  which  it  has  done  you.  Only  it  is  melancholy  for 
you.  — Who  is  this  ?  " 

Kitty  told  the  names  of  the  acquaintances  and 
strangers  that  they  met  on  their  way.  At  the  very 
entrance  of  the  garden  they  met  Madame  Berthe  and 
her  companion,  and  the  prince  was  pleased  to  see  the 
expression  of  joy  on  the  old  Frenchwoman's  face  at 
the  sound  of  Kitty's  voice.  With  true  French  exagger- 
ation she  immediately  overwhelmed  the  prince  with 
compliments,  congratulating  him  on  having  such  a 
charming  daughter,   whose    merits  she  praised  to  the 


skies,  declaring  to  her  face  that  she  was  a  treasure,  a 
pearl,  a  ministering  angel. 

"Well!  she  must  be  angel  number  two,"  said  the 
prince,  gallantly,  "for  she  calls  Mademoiselle  Varenka 
angel  number  one." 

"  Oh !  Mademoiselle  Varenka  is  truly  an  angel. 
Allez"  said  Madame  Berthe,  vivaciously. 

They  met  Varenka  herself  in  the  gallery.  She 
hastened  up  to  them,  carrying  an  elegant  red  bag. 

"  Here  is  papa,"  said  Kitty. 

Varenka  made  the  prince  a  simple  and  natural  saluta- 
tion, almost  like  a  courtesy,  and  without  any  false 
modesty  immediately  entered  into  conversation  with 
him  as  she  conversed  with  every  one,  without  restraint 
or  affectation. 

"Of  course  I  know  you,  —  know  you  very  well  al- 
ready," said  the  prince,  with  a  pleasant  expression  that 
made  Kitty  see  that  her  friend  pleased  her  father. 
"  Where  were  you  going  so  fast  ?  " 

"  Maman  is  here,"  she  replied,  turning  to  Kitty. 
"She  did  not  sleep  all  night,  and  the  doctor  advised  her 
to  take  the  air.     I  have  brought  her  work," 

"  So  that  is  angel  number  one } "  said  the  prince, 
when  Varenka  had  gone. 

Kitty  saw  that  he  had  intended  to  rally  her  about  her 
friend,  but  had  refrained  because  her  friend  had  pleased 
him.  "Well,  let  us  go  and  see  them  all,"  said  he, — 
"  all  your  friends,  even  Madame  Stahl,  if  she  will  deign 
to  remember  me." 

"But  did  you  ever  know  her,  papa.-*"  asked  Kitty, 
with  fear,  as  she  saw  an  ironical  flash  in  her  father's 
eyes  as  he  mentioned  Madame  Stahl. 

"  I  knew  her  husband,  and  I  knew  her  a  little,  before 
she  joined  the  Pietists." 

"  What  are  Pietists,  papa  1  "  asked  Kitty,  troubled 
because  such  a  nickname  was  given  to  what  in  Madame 
Stahl  she  valued  so  highly. 

"  I  myself  do  not  know  much  about  them.  I  only 
know_  this,  that  she  thanks  God  for  everything,  even 
for  her  tribulations,   and,   above  all,   she    thanks   God 


because  her  husband  is  dead.  Now,  that  is  comical, 
because  they  did  not  live  happily  together.  But  who  is 
that .''  What  a  melancholy  face  !  "  he  added,  seeing  an 
invalid  sitting  in  a  shop  in  cinnamon-colored  paletot, 
with  white  pantaloons  making  strange  folds  around  his 
emaciated  legs.  This  gentleman  had  raised  his  straw 
hat,  and  bared  his  sparse  curly  hair  and  high  sickly 
forehead,  on  which  showed  the  red  line  made  by  the 

"That  is  Petrof,  a  painter,"  replied  Kitty,  with  a 
blush  ;  "  and  there  is  his  wife,"  she  added,  indicating 
Anna  Pavlovna,  who,  at  their  approach,  had  evidently 
made  the  excuse  of  running  after  one  of  their  children 
playing  in  the  street. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  and  what  a  pleasant  face  he  has !  " 
said  the  prince.  "But  why  did  you  not  go  to  him .-^  He 
seemed  anxious  to  speak  to  you." 

"Well,  let  us  go  back  to  him,"  said  Kitty,  resolutely 
turning  about.  "  PJow  do  you  feel  to-day  ? "  she  asked 
of  Petrof. 

Petrof  arose,  leaning  on  his  cane,  and  looked  timidly 
at  the  prince. 

"This  is  my  daughter,"  said  the  prince;  "allow  me 
to  make  your  acquaintance." 

The  painter  bowed  and  smiled,  showing  teeth  of 
strangely  dazzling  whiteness. 

"We  expected  you  yesterday,  princess,"  said  he  to 

He  staggered  as  he  spoke ;  and  to  conceal  the  fact 
that  it  was  involuntary,  he  repeated  the  motion. 

"  I  expected  to  come,  but  Varenka  told  me  that  Anna 
Pavlovna  sent  word  that  you  were  not  going." 

"  That  we  were  n't  going } "  said  Petrof,  troubled,  and 
beginning  to  cough.  Then,  looking  toward  his  wife,  he 
called  hoarsely,  "  Annetta  !  Annetta  !  "  while  the  great 
veins  on  his  thin  white  neck  stood  out  like  cords. 

Anna  Pavlovna  drew  near. 

"  How  did  you  send  word  to  the  princess  that  we 
were  not  going  ? "  he  demanded  angrily,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Good-morning,  princess,"  said  Anna  Pavlovna,  with 



a  constrained  smile,  totally  different  from  her  former 
effusiveness.  "Very  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance," 
she  added,  addressing  the  prince.  "  You  have  been 
long  expected,  prince." 

"  How  could  you  have  sent  word  to  the  princess  that 
we  were  not  going  ?  "  again  demanded  the  painter,  in  his 
hoarse  whisper,  and  still  more  irritated  because  he  could 
not  express  himself  as  he  wished. 

"  Oh,  good  heavens !  I  thought  that  we  were  not 
going,"  said  his  wife,  testily. 

"  How."*....  when  .?  "  .... 

He  coughed,  and  made  a  gesture  of  despair  with  his 

The  prince  raised  his  hat,  and  went  away  with  his 

"  Oh  !  okh  !"  he  said,  with  a  deep  sigh.  "  Oh,  these 
poor  creatures  !  " 

"Yes,  papa,"  said  Kitty;  "and  you  must  know  that 
they  have  three  children,  and  no  servant,  and  almost  no 
means.  He  receives  a  pittance  from  the  Academy," 
she  continued  eagerly,  so  as  to  conceal  the  emotion 
caused  by  the  strange  change  in  Anna  Pavlovna,  in 
her  behavior  to  her.  "Ah,  there  is  Madame  Stahl  !  " 
said  Kitty,  directing  his  attention  to  a  wheeled-chair,  in 
which  was  lying  a  human  form,  wrapped  in  gray  and 
blue,  propped  up  by  pillows,  and  shaded  by  an  umbrella. 
It  was  Madame  Stahl.  A  solemn  and  sturdy  German 
laborer  was  pushing  her  chair.  Beside  her  walked  a  light- 
complexioned  Swedish  count,  whom  Kitty  knew  by  sight. 
Several  people  had  stopped  near  the  wheeled-chair,  and 
were  gazing  at  this  lady  as  if  she  were  some  curiosity. 

The  prince  approached  her,  and  Kitty  instantly  noticed 
in  her  father's  eyes  that  ironical  gleam  which  had 
troubled  her  before.  He  went  up  to  Madame  Stahl, 
and  addressed  her  in  that  excellent  French  which  so 
few  Russians  nowadays  are  able  to  speak,  and  was  ex- 
tremely polite  and  friendly. 

"I  do  not  know  whether  you  still  recollect  me,  but 
it  is  my  duty  to  bring  myself  to  your  remembrance,  in 
order  that  I  may  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  my 


daughter,"  said  he,  taking  off  his  hat,  and  holding  it 
in  his  hand. 

"Prince  Aleksandr  Shcherbatsky  ! "  said  Madame 
Stahl,  looking  at  him  with  her  heavenly  eyes,  in  which 
Kitty  detected  a  shade  of  dissatisfaction.  "  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you  ;  I  love  your  daughter  so  !  " 

"  Your  health  is  not  always  good .''  " 

"  Oh !  I  am  pretty  well  used  to  it  now,"  replied 
Madame  Stahl ;  and  she  presented  the  prince  to  the 
Swedish  count. 

"  You  have  changed  very  little,"  said  the  prince  to 
her,  "during  the  ten  or  twelve  years  since  I  had  the 
honor  of  seeing  you." 

"  Yes.  God  gives  the  cross,  and  gives  also  the  power 
to  carry  it.  I  often  ask  myself  why  my  life  is  so  pro- 
longed  Not  like  that,"  she  said  crossly,  to  Varenka, 

who  had  not  succeeded  in  putting  her  plaid  over  her 
shoulders  to  her  satisfaction. 

"  For  doing  good,  without  doubt,"  said  the  prince, 
with  laughing  eyes. 

"It  is  not  for  us  to  judge,"  replied  Madame  Stahl, 
observing  the  gleam  of  irony  in  the  prince's  face. 

"  I  pray  you  send  me  that  book,  dear  count.  I  will 
thank  you  a  thousand  times,"  said  she,  turning  to  the 
young  Swede. 

"Ah!"  cried  the  prince,  who  had  just  caught  sight 
of  the  Muscovite  colonel  standing  near ;  and,  bowing  to 
Madame  Stahl,  he  went  away  with  his  daughter  and  the 
Muscovite  colonel,  who  had  joined  him. 

"  This  is  our  aristocracy,  prince ! "  said  the  colonel, 
with  sarcastic  intent,  for  he  also  was  piqued  because 
Madame  Stahl  refused  to  be  friendly. 

"  Always  the  same,"  replied  the  prince. 

"  Did  you  know  her  before  her  illness,  prince,  —  that 
is,  before  she  became  an  invalid  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  she  became  an  invalid  after  I  knew  her." 

"  They  say  that  she  has  not  walked  for  ten  years.  "  .... 

"  She  does  not  walk  because  one  leg  is  shorter  than 
the  other.     She  is  very  badly  put  together.  ".... 

"  Papa,  it  is  impossible,"  cried  Kitty. 



"  Evil  tongues  say  so,  my  dear ;  and  your  friend 
Varenka  ought  to  see  her  as  she  is.  Oh,  these  invalid 
ladies  ! " 

"  Oh,  no,  papa !  I  assure  you,  Varenka  adores  her," 
cried  Kitty,  eagerly;  "and  besides,  she  does  so  much 
good !  Ask  any  one  you  please.  Every  one  knows  her 
and  Aline  Stahl." 

"  Maybe,"  replied  her  father,  pressing  her  arm  gently  ; 
"  but  it  would  be  better  when  people  do  such  things 
that  no  one  should  know  about  it." 

Kitty  was  silent,  not  because  she  had  nothing  to  say, 
but  she  was  unwilling  to  reveal  her  inmost  thoughts 
even  to  her  father. 

There  was  one  strange  thing,  however :  decided  though 
she  was  not  to  unbosom  herself  to  her  father,  not  to 
let  him  penetrate  into  the  sanctuary  of  her  reflections, 
she  nevertheless  was  conscious  that  her  ideal  of  holiness, 
as  seen  in  Madame  Stahl,  which  she  had  for  a  whole 
month  carried  in  her  soul,  had  irrevocably  disappeared, 
as  a  face  seen  in  a  garment  thrown  down  by  chance 
disappears  when  one  really  sees  how  the  garment  is 
lying.  She  retained  only  the  image  of  a  lame  woman 
who,  because  she  was  deformed,  stayed  in  bed,  and  who 
tormented  the  paftient  Varenka  because  she  did  not 
arrange  her  plaid  to  suit  her.  And  it  became  impossi- 
ble for  her  imagination  to  bring  back  to  her  the  remem- 
brance of  the  former  Madame  Stahl. 


The  prince's  gayety  and  good  humor  were  contagious ; 
his  household  and  acquaintances,  and  even  their  Ger- 
man landlord,  felt  it. 

When  he  came  in  with  Kitty,  from  the  springs,  the 
prince  invited  the  colonel,  Marya  Yevgenyevna  and  her 
daughter,  and  Varenka,  to  luncheon,  and  had  the  table 
and  chairs  brought  out  under  the  chestnut  trees  in  the 
garden,  and  there  the  guests  were  served.  The  landlord 
and  his  domestics  were  filled  with  zeal  under  the  influ- 


ence  of  his  good  spirits.  They  knew  his  generosity ; 
and  before  half  an  hour  was  over  a  sick  Hamburg  doc- 
tor, who  had  rooms  on  the  upper  floor,  was  looking  down 
with  envy  on  the  happy  group  of  hearty  Russians  sitting 
under  the  chestnut  trees. 

Under  the  flickering  'shade  of  the  sun-flecked  leaves  sat 
the  princess,  in  a  bonnet  trimmed  with  lilac  ribbons,  pre- 
siding over  the  table  spread  with  a  white  cloth,  whereon 
were  placed  the  coffee-service,  the  bread,  butter,  cheese, 
and  cold  game ;  she  was  distributing  cups  and  tarts. 
At  the  other  end  of  the  table  sat  the  prince,  eating 
with  good  appetite,  and  talking  with  great  animation. 
He  had  spread  out  in  front  of  him  his  purchases,  — 
carved  boxes,  jackstraws,  paper-cutters  of  all  kinds, 
which  he  had  brought  back  from  all  the  places  where 
he  had  been  ;  and  he  was  distributing  them  around  to 
all,  including  Lieschen  the  maid,  and  the  landlord,  with 
whom  he  joked  in  his  comically  bad  German,  assuring 
him  that  it  was  not  the  waters  that  had  cured  Kitty, 
but  his  excellent  cuisine,  and  particularly  his  prune  soup. 

The  princess  laughed  at  her  husband  for  his  Russian 
peculiarities ;  but  never,  since  she  had  been  at  the  Spa, 
had  she  been  so  gay  and  lively.  The  colonel,  as  always, 
was  amused  at  the  prince's  jests ;  but  he  agreed  with 
the  princess  on  the  European  question,  which  he  im- 
agined that  he  understood  thoroughly.  The  good 
Marya  Yevgenyevna  laughed  at  every  good  thing  that 
the  prince  said  ;  and  even  Varenka,  to  Kitty's  great 
astonishment,  laughed  till  she  was  tired,  with  unde- 
monstrative but  infectious  hilarity  awakened  by  the 
prince's  jests.  This  was  something  Kitty  had  never 
known  to  happen  before. 

All  this  delighted  Kitty,  but  she  could  not  free  her- 
self from  mental  agitation  ;  she  could  not  resolve  the 
problem  which  her  father  had  unintentionally  given  her 
by  his  jesting,  humorous  attitude  toward  her  friends 
and  the  life  which  offered  her  so  many  attractions. 
Moreover,  she  could  not  help  puzzling  herself  with  the 
reasons  for  the  change  in  her  relations  with  the  Pe- 
trofs,  which  had  struck  her  that  day  so  plainly  and  dis- 


agreeably.  All  the  rest  were  gay,  but  Kitty  could  not 
be  gay,  and  this  still  more  annoyed  her.  She  experi- 
enced a  feeling  analogous  to  that  which  she  had  known 
in  her  childhood,  when,  as  a  punishment  for  some  offense, 
she  was  shut  up  in  her  room  and  heard  the  gay  merri- 
ment of  her  sisters. 

"  Now,  why  did  you  purchase  this  heap  of  things  .■' " 
asked  the  princess,  smiling  and  offering  her  husband  a 
cup  of  coffee. 

"You  go  out  for  a  walk,  well!  and  you  come  to  a 
shop,  and  they  address  you,  and  say,  ^  ErlaiicJit,  Excel- 
lenz,  Diirchlaiicht!'  Well,  when  they  say  Diirchlaucht} 
I  cannot  resist  any  longer,  and  my  ten  thalers  vanish." 

"  It  was  merely  because  you  were  bored,"  said  the 

"  Certainly  I  was  bored !  It  was  ennui  which  one 
does  not  know  how  to  escape  from." 

"  But  how  can  you  be  bored .''  There  are  so  many 
interesting  things  to  see  in  Germany  now,"  said  Marya 

"  Yes  !  I  know  all  which  is  interesting  just  at  the 
present  time :  I  know  soup  with  prunes,  I  know  pea- 
pudding,  I  know  everything." 

"  Just  as  you  please,  prince,  but  their  institutions  are 
interesting,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Yes !  but  what  is  there  interesting  about  them .-" 
They  are  as  contented  as  copper  kopeks.  They  have 
whipped  the  world !  Now,  why  should  I  find  anything 
to  content  me  here  }  I  never  conquered  anybody ;  but 
I  have  to  take  off  my  boots  myself,  and,  what  is  worse, 
put  them  out  myself  in  the  corridor.  In  the  morning 
I  get  up,  and  have  to  dress  myself,  and  go  down  to  the 
dining-room  and  drink  execrable  tea.  'T  is  n't  like  that 
at  home.  There  you  can  get  up  when  you  please ;  if 
you  are  out  of  sorts,  you  can  grumble  ;  you  have  all  the 
time  you  need  for  remembering  things,  and  you  can  do 
whatever  you  please  without  hurrying." 

"But  time  is  money;  you  forget  that,"  said  the 

^  Durcklauchty  highness. 


"That  depends.  There  are  whole  months  which  you 
would  sell  for  fifty  kopeks,  and  half-hours  which  you 
would  not  take  any  amount  of  money  for.  Is  n't  that 
so,  Katenka  .<*     But  why  are  you  so  solemn  .''  " 

"  I  am  not,  papa." 

"Where  are  you  going?  Stay  a  little  longer,"  said 
the  prince  to  Varenka. 

"  But  I  must  go  home,"  said  Varenka,  rising,  and 
laughing  gayly  again.  After  she  had  excused  herself, 
she  took  leave  of  her  friends,  and  went  into  the  house 
to  get  her  hat. 

Kitty  followed  her.  Even  Varenka  seemed  to  her 
friend  changed.  She  was  not  less  good,  but  she  was 
different  from  what  she  had  imagined  her  to  be. 

"Akh!  it  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  laughed  so 
much,"  said  Varenka,  as  she  was  getting  her  parasol 
and  her  satchel,     "  How  charming  your  papa  is  !  " 

Kitty  did  not  answer. 

"  When  shall  I  see  you  again  .? "  asked  Varenka, 

^' Mamaii  wanted  to  go  to  the  Petrofs'.  Are  you 
going  to  be  there } "  asked  Kitty,  trying  to  sound 

"  I  am  going  to  be  there,"  she  replied.  "  They  are 
expecting  to  leave,  and  I  promised  to  help  them  pack," 

"Well,  then  I  will  go  with  you," 

"  No  ;  why  should  you  .■'  "• 

"  Why  not  ?  why  not  ?  why  not  ?  "  asked  Kitty,  open- 
ing her  eyes  very  wide,  and  holding  Varenka  by  her 
sunshade.     "Wait  a  moment,  and  tell  me  why  not," 

" '  Why  not  ? '  Because  your  papa  has  come,  and 
because  they  are  vexed  at  you." 

"  No ;  tell  me  honestly  why  you  don't  like  to  have 
me  go  to  the  Petrofs',  You  don't  like  it ;  why  is 

"I  didn't  say  so,"  replied  Varenka,  calmly. 

"  I  beg  you  to  tell  me." 

"  Must  I  tell  you  all  ? " 

"All,  all,"  replied  Kitty. 

"  Well !  There  is  really  nothing  very  serious  ;  only 
Mikhail  Alekseyevitch  —  that  was  Petrofs  name  —  a 
VOL,  I.  —  20 


short  time  ago  wanted  to  leave  even  before  this,  and  now 
he  does  not  want  to  go  at  all,"  replied  Varenka,  smiling. 

"Well,  well!"  cried  Kitty,  looking  at  Varenka  with 
a  gloomy  expression. 

"  Now  for  some  reason  Anna  Pavlovna  imagines  that 
he  does  not  want  to  go  because  you  are  here.  Of 
course  this  was  unfortunate ;  but  you  have  been  the 
unwitting  cause  of  a  family  quarrel,  and  you  know  how 
irritable  these  invalids  are." 

Kitty  grew  still  more  melancholy,  and  kept  silent ; 
and  Varenka  went  on  speaking,  trying  to  smooth  it 
over,  and  put  things  in  a  better  light,  though  she  fore- 
saw that  the  result  would  be  either  tears  or  reproaches, 
she  knew  not  which. 

"So  it  is  better  for  you  not  to  go  there  ....and  you 
will  not  be  angry....  " 

"  But  it  was  my  fault,  it  was  my  fault,"  said  Kitty, 
speaking  rapidly,  and  snatching  Varenka's  parasol  away 
from  her,  and  not  looking  at  her. 

Varenka  was  amused  at  her  friend's  childish  anger, 
but  she  was  afraid  of  offending  her. 

"  How  is  it  your  fault  ?     I  don't  understand  !  " 

"  My  fault  because  it  was  all  pretense,  it  was  all 
hypocrisy,  and  because  it  did  not  come  from  the  heart. 
What  business  had  I  to  meddle  in  the  affairs  of  a  stran- 
ger.^ And  so  I  have  been  the  cause  of  a  quarrel,  and 
I  have  been  doing  what  no  one  asked  me  to  do,  simply 
because  it  was  all  hypocrisy,  hypocrisy,"  said  she. 

"  But  why  do  you  call  it  hypocrisy.'"  asked  Varenka, 

"  Akh  !     How  stupid,  how  wretched  !     It  was  none  of 

my  business Hypocrisy  !  "  mechanically  opening  and 

shutting  the  sunshade. 

"  But  it  was  your  idea }  " 

"  So  as  to  seem  better  to  others,  to  myself,  to  God, — 
to  deceive  every  one.  No,  I  will  not  fall  so  low  again. 
I  may  be  wicked,  but  at  least  I  will  not  be  a  liar  and 
deceiver !  " 

"  But  who  is  a  liar  ? "  asked  Varenka,  in  a  reproachful 
tone.     "  You  speak  as  if  ....  " 


But  Kitty  was  thoroughly  angry,  and  did  not  let  her 

"  I  am  not  speaking  of  you,  not  of  you  at  all.  You 
are  perfection.  Yes,  yes  ;  I  know  that  you  are  all  per- 
fection. How  can  I  help  it.-*,...  I  am  wicked;  this 
would  not  have  occurred,  if  I  had  not  been  wicked.  So 
let  me  be  what  I  am,  but  I  will  not  be  deceitful.  What 
have  I  to  do  with  Anna  Pavlovna  ?  Let  them  live  as 
they  want  to,  and  I  will  do  the  same.  I  can't  be  some- 
body else Besides,  everything  is  different....  " 

"  What  is  'different  * .-' "  asked  Varenka,  in  perplexity, 

"  Everything !  I  can  only  live  by  my  heart,  but  you 
live  by  your  principles.  I  like  you  all ;  but  you  have 
had  in  view  only  to  save  me,  to  convert  me." 

"You  are  not  fair,"  said  Varenka. 

"  I  am  not  speaking  for  other  people.  I  only  speak 
for  myself." 

"  Kitty  !  "  cried  her  mother's  voice,  "  come  here  and 
show  papa  your  corals." 

Kitty,  with  a  haughty  face  and  not  making  it  up  with 
her  friend,  took  the  box  with  the  corals  from  the  table 
and  carried  it  to  her  mother. 

"What  is  the  matter.?  why  are  you  so  flushed?" 
asked  her  father  and  mother  with  one  voice. 

"  Nothing ;  I  am  coming  right  back  ; "  and  she  hur- 
ried back  to  the  house. 

"She  is  still  there,"  she  thought;  "what  shall  I  tell 
her  ?  Bozhe  mof !  what  have  I  done  ?  what  have  I  said.? 
Why  did  I  hurt  her  feelings  ?  What  have  I  done  ?  what 
shall  I  say  to  her .-' "  she  asked  herself,  as  she  hesitated 
at  the  door. 

Varenka,  with  her  hat  on  and  her  parasol  in  her  hand, 
was  sitting  by  the  table,  examining  the  spring,  which 
Kitty  had  broken.     She  raised  her  head. 

"Varenka,  forgive  me,"  whispered  Kitty,  coming  up 
to  her.     "  Forgive  me,  I  don't  know  what  I  said.     I ....  " 

"  Truly,  I  did  not  mean  to  cause  you  pain,"  said 
Varenka,  smiling. 

Peace  was  made. 

But  her  father's  coming  had  changed  for  Kitty  the 


whole  world  in  which  she  lived.  She  did  not  give  up 
what  she  had  learned,  but  she  confessed  that  she  had 
been  under  an  illusion  by  believing  that  she  was  what 
she  had  dreamed  of  being.  She  awoke  as  it  were  from 
a  dream.  She  felt  all  the  difficulty  of  staying  without 
hypocrisy  and  boastfulness  on  the  heights  to  which  she 
had  tried  to  raise  herself ;  moreover,  she  felt  still  more 
vividly  all  the  weight  of  that  world  of  misfortunes,  of 
illnesses,  of  those  who  surrounded  her,  and  she  was  tor- 
mented by  the  efforts  which  she  had  made  to  interest 
herself  in  them ;  and  she  began  to  long  to  breathe  the 
purer,  healthier  atmosphere  of  Russia  at  Yergushovo, 
where  Dolly  and  the  children  had  gone,  as  she  learned 
from  a  letter  that  had  just  come. 

But  her  love  for  Varenka  had  not  diminished.  When 
she  went  away,  she  begged  her  to  come  and  visit  them 
in  Russia. 

"  I  will  come  when  you  are  married,"  said  she. 

"I  shall  never  marry." 
'  '"Well,  then  I  shall  never  come." 

"Well,  in  that  case,  I  shall  get  married  only  for 
your  sake.     Don't  forget  your  promise,"  said  Kitty. 

The  doctor's  prophecies  were  realized.  Kitty  came 
home  to  Russia  perfectly  well ;  possibly  she  was  not 
as  gay  and  careless  as  before,  but  her  calmness  was 
restored.     The  pains  of  the  past  were  only  a  memory. 


Levin  and  Kitty, 

Original  Drawing  by  E.  Boyd  Smith, 


VOL.   U 




a  rest  after  his  intellectual  labors ;  and,  instead  of 
going  abroad  as  usual,  he  came,  toward  the  end  of  May, 
to  visit  his  brother  in  the  country.  In  his  opinion,  coun- 
try life  was  best  of  all,  and  he  came  now  to  his  brother's 
to  enjoy  it.  Konstantin  Levin  was  very  glad  to  welcome 
him,  the  more  because  this  sumrper  he  did  not  expect 
his  brother  Nikolai'.  But  in  spite  of  his  love  and  respect 
for  Sergyef  Ivanovitch,  Konstantin  was  not  at  his  ease 
with  him  in  the  country.  He  was  not  at  his  ease,  he 
was  even  annoyed  to  see  how  his  brother  regarded  the 
country.  For  Konstantin  Levin  the  country  was  the 
place  for  life,  —  for  pleasures,  sorrows,  labor.  For  Ser- 
gyei  Ivanovitch  the  country,  on  the  one  side,  offered 
rest  from  labor,  on  the  other,  a  profitable  antidote  against 
corruption,  and  he  took  it  gladly,  convinced  of  its  utility. 
For  Konstantin  Levin  the  country  was  beautiful  because 
it  offered  field  for  works  of  incontestable  utility.  For 
Sergyef  Ivanovitch  the  country  was  especially  delightful 
because  there  was  nothing  he  could  do,  or  needed  to  do 
there,  at  all. 

Moreover,  Sergyeif  Ivanovitch's  behavior  toward  the 
people  somewhat  piqued  Konstantin.  Sergyeif  Ivano- 
vitch said  that  he  loved  and  knew  the  people ;  and  he 
often  chatted  with  the  muzhiks  as  he  was  fully  able  to 
do,  without  pretense  and  without  affectation,  and  dis- 
covered, in  his  interviews  with  them,  traits  of  character 
honorable  to  the  people,  so  that  he  felt  convinced  that 

VOL.  II.  —  I  i 


he  knew  them  thoroughly.  Such  relations  with  the 
people  displeased  Konstantin  Levin.  For  him  the  peas- 
antry was  only  the  chief  factor  in  associated  labor ;  and 
though  he  respected  the  muzhik,  and,  as  he  himself  said, 
drew  in  with  the  milk  of  the  woman  who  nursed  him  a 
genuine  love  for  them,  still  he,  as  a  factor  associated 
with  them  in  the  general  labors,  while  sometimes  ad- 
miring their  strength,  their  good  nature,  their  sense  of 
justice,  very  often  when  in  the  general  work  of  the 
estate  other  qualities  were  needed,  flew  into  a  passion 
with  the  peasantry  for  their  carelessness,  slovenliness, 
drunkenness,  untruthfulness.  If  he  had  been  asked 
whether  he  liked  the  people,  he  would  really  have  not 
known  what  reply  to  make.  He  liked  and  he  did  not 
like  the  people  as  the  majority  of  men  did.  Of  course 
as  a  good  man  he  liked  men  more  than  he  disliked 
them  ;  and  so  it  was  with  the  peasantry.  But  to  like  or 
not  to  like  the  peasantry,  as  something  out  of  the  com- 
mon, was  an  impossibility  to  him,  because  he  not  only 
lived  with  the  peasantry,  because  not  only  were  his  in- 
terests bound  up  with  those  of  the  peasantry,  but  also 
he  looked  on  himself  as  a  part  of  the  people,  saw  no 
qualities  or  faults  in  the  people  that  he  did  not  himself 
possess,  and  could  not  take  his  stand  contrary  to  the 
people.  Moreover,  although  he  had  long  lived  in  the 
closest  relationship  with  his  muzhiks  as  their  landlord, 
their  mediator,  and,  what  was  more,  their  adviser,  —  for 
the  muzhiks  had  faith  in  him,  and  came  to  him  from 
forty  versts  around  to  ask  his  advice,  —  he  passed  no 
definite  judgment  on  them  ;  and  to  the  question,  did 
he  know  the  people,  he  would  have  found  it  as  hard 
to  find  an  answer  as  to  the  question,  did  he  like  the 

But  to  say  that  he  knew  the  peasantry  would  have 
meant  in  his  opinion  the  same  as  to  say  that  he  knew 
men.  He  was  constantly  admiring  and  studying  all 
kinds  of  men,  and  among  them,  men  from  among  the 
peasantry  whom  he  considered  to  be  fine  and  interest- 
ing specimens  of  humanity,  and  he  was  all  the  time 
discovering   in   them    new  characteristics,   and   chang- 


ing  and  revising  his  preconceived  theories  regarding 

Sergyef  Ivanovitch  was  the  opposite.  Just  exactly  as 
he  liked  and  enjoyed  the  country  life  for  its  contrariety 
to  that  which  he  did  not  like,  so  he  liked  the  peasantry 
for  their  contrariety  to  that  class  of  men  which  he  did 
not  like,  and  in  exactly  the  same  way  he  knew  the 
people  as  beings  opposed  to  men  in  general.  His 
methodical  mind  clearly  differentiated  the  definite  forms 
of  life  among  the  peasantry,  deducing  it  partly  from 
the  life  of  the  peasantry  itself,  but  principally  from 
its  contrarieties.  He  never  changed  his  opinions  in 
regard  to  the  people  and  his  sympathetic  relationship 
to  them. 

In  the  discussions  which  arose  between  the  brothers 
in  consequence  of  their  divergence  of  views,  Sergyelf 
Ivanovitch  always  won  the  victory  because  he  had  defi- 
nite opinions  concerning  the  people,  their  character, 
peculiarities,  and  tastes  ;  while  Konstantin  Levin,  cease- 
lessly modifying  his,  was  easily  convicted  of  contradict- 
ing himself. 

Sergyelf  Ivanovitch  looked  on  his  brother  as  a  splen- 
did fellow,  whose  heart  was  bicn  placi,  as  he  expressed 
it  in  French,  but  whose  mind,  though  quick  and  active, 
was  open  to  the  impressions  of  the  moment,  and,  there- 
fore, full  of  contradictions.  With  the  condescension  of 
an  elder  brother,  he  sometimes  explained  to  him  the  real 
meaning  of  things  ;  but  he  could  not  take  genuine  pleas- 
ure in  discussing  with  him,  because  his  opponent  was  so 
easy  to  vanquish. 

Konstantin  Levin  looked  on  his  brother  as  a  man  of 
vast  intelligence  and  learning,  endowed  with  extraordi- 
nary faculties,  most  advantageous  to  the  community  at 
large ;  but  as  he  advanced  in  life,  and  learned  to  know 
him  better,  he  sometimes  asked  himself,  in  the  secret 
chambers  of  his  heart,  if  this  devotion  to  the  general 
interests,  which  he  felt  that  he  himself  entirely  lacked, 
was  really  a  good  quality,  or  rather  a  lack  of  something 
—  not  a  lack  of  good-natured,  upright,  benevolent  wishes 
and  tastes,  but  the  lack  of  the  motive  power  of  life, 


which  is  called  "  heart,"  of  that  impulse  which  con- 
strains a  man  to  choose  one  out  of  all  multitudes  of 
paths  which  life  offers  to  men,  and  to  desire  this  alone. 
The  better  he  knew  his  brother,  the  more  he  remarked 
that  Sergyer  Ivanovitch  and  many  other  workers  for  the 
common  good  were  not  drawn  by  their  affections  to  this 
work,  but  that  they  used  their  reason  to  justify  them- 
selves in  the  interest  they  took  in  it. 

Levin  was  still  further  confirmed  in  this  hypothesis 
by  the  observation  that  his  brother  did  not  really  take 
much  more  to  heart  the  questions  concerning  the  com- 
mon good  and  the  immortality  of  the  soul  than  those 
connected  with  a  game  of  chess  or  the  ingenious  con- 
struction of  a  new  machine. 

Again  Levin  felt,  also,  constraint  with  his  brother 
from  the  fact  that  while  he  was  in  the  country,  and  es- 
pecially in  the  summer-time,  he  was  all  the  time  busy 
with  his  work  on  the  estate.  The  days  seemed  to  him 
too  short  for  him  to  accomplish  all  that  he  wanted  to 
do,  while  his  brother  was  taking  his  ease.  But,  though 
Sergyef  Ivanovitch  was  enjoying  his  vacation,  in  other 
words,  was  jiot  working  at  his  writing,  he  was  so  used  to 
intellectual  activity,  that  he  enjoyed  expressing  in  beau- 
tiful, concise  form  the  thoughts  that  occurred  to  him, 
and  he  liked  to  have  some  one  listen  to  him.  His  most 
habitual  and  most  natural  auditor  was  his  brother,  and 
therefore,  notwithstanding  the  friendly  simplicity  of 
their  relations,  Konstantin  felt  awkward  to  be  alone  with 
him.  Sergyei'  Ivanovitch  liked  to  lie  on  the  grass,  in  the 
sun,  stretched  out  at  full  length,  and  to  talk  lazily. 

"You  would  n't  believe,"  he  would  say  to  his  brother, 
"how  I  enjoy  this  tufted  idleness.  I  have  not  an  idea 
in  my  head ;  it  is  empty  as  a  shell." 

But  Konstantin  Levin  quickly  wearied  of  sitting  down 
and  hearing  him  talk  —  especially  because  he  knew  that 
in  his  absence  they  were  spreading  the  manure  on  the 
unplowed  field,  and  would  be  up  to  God  knows  what 
mischief,  unless  he  should  be  on  hand  to  superintend  this 
work  ;  he  knew  that  they  would  not  screw  up  the  cutters 
in   his  plows,  but  would  be  taking  them  off  and  then 

ANNA    KARENINA    ■  ^ 

say  that  plows  were  foolish  devices,  and  that  Andreyef  s 
sokha  ^  did  the  work,  and  the  like. 

"  Don't  you  ever  get  weary  going  about  so  in  this 
heat?"  asked  Sergyei'  Ivanovitch. 

"  No.  Only  I  must  run  over  to  the  office  for  a  min- 
ute," said  Levin ;  and  he  hurried  across  the  field. 


Early  in  June,  Agafya  Mikhadovna,  the  old  nurse 
and  ckonomka,  or  housekeeper,  in  going  down  cellar  with 
a  pot  of  salted  mushrooms,  slipped  and  fell,  and  dislo- 
cated her  wrist. 

The  district  doctor,  a  loquacious  young  medical  stu- 
dent who  had  just  taken  his  degree,  came,  and,  after 
examining  the  arm,  declared  that  it  was  not  out  of  joint. 
During  dinner,  proud  of  finding  himself  in  the  society 
of  the  distinguished  Sergyei  Ivanovitch  Koznuishef,  he 
began  to  relate  all  the  petty  gossip  of  the  district  in 
order  to  display  his  enlightened  views  of  things ;  and  he 
expressed  his  regrets  at  the  bad  condition  of  provincial 

Sergyei  Ivanovitch  listened  attentively,  asking  various 
questions ;  and  animated  by  the  presence  of  a  new  hearer, 
he  made  keen  and  shrewd  observations,  which  were  re- 
ceived by  the  young  doctor  with  respectful  appreciation, 
and  his  spirits  rose  high,  which,  as  his  brother  knew, 
was  liable  to  be  the  case  with  him  after  a  lively  and  brill- 
iant conversation. 

After  the  doctor's  departure  he  expressed  his  desire 
to  go  to  the  river  and  fish.  He  was  fond  of  fishing, 
and  seemed  to  take  pride  in  showing  that  he  could 
amuse  himself  with  such  a  stupid  occupation.  Kon- 
stantin  had  to  go  to  certain  fields  and  meadows,  and 
offered  to  take  his  brother  in  his  cabriolet  as  far  as  the 

^  The  picture  by  Repin  represents  Count  Tolstoi  plowing  with  the  primi- 
tive sokha.  Levin's  peasantry  call  the  plow  (^plug)  vuidumka  pustaya, 
"  empty  invention." 


It  was  the  time  of  the  year,  the  very  top  of  the  sum< 
mer,  when  the  prospects  of  harvest  may  be  estimated, 
when  the  labors  of  the  next  year's  planting  begin  to  be 
thought  of,  and  the  mowing-time  has  come ;  when  the  rye 
is  already  eared  and  sea-green  in  color,  but  still  not  fully 
formed ;  when  the  ears  of  corn  swing  lightly  in  the  breeze ; 
when  the  green  oats,  with  scattered  clumps  of  yellow 
grass,  peep  irregularly  from  the  late-sown  fields;  when 
the  early  buckwheat  already  is  up  and  hides  the  soil; 
when  the  fallow  fields,  beaten  a^  hard  as  stone  by  the 
cattle  and  with  paths  deserted,  on  which  the  sokha,  or 
primitive  plow,  has  no  effect,  are  half  broken  up ;  when 
the  odor  of  the  dry  manure,  heaped  in  little  hillocks  over 
the  fields,  mingles  at  twilight  with  the  perfume  of  the 
"  honey-grass,"  ^  and  on  the  bottom  lands,  waiting  for 
the  scythe,  stand  the  protected  meadows  like  a  bound- 
less sea  with  the  darkening  clumps  of  sorrel  that  has 
done  blooming. 

It  was  the  time  when  there  is  a  brief  breathing-spell 
before  the  harvest,  that  great  event  which  the  muzhik 
with  eagerness  expects  each  year.  The  crops  promised 
to  be  superb  ;  and  there  was  a  succession  of  bright,  clear 
summer  days,  followed  by  short,  dewy  nights. 

The  two  brothers  had  to  go  through  the  woodland  to 
reach  the  fields.  SergyeT  Ivanovitch  was  all  the  time 
admiring  the  beauty  of  the  forest  with  its  dense  canopy 
of  leaves,  and  he  pointed  out  to  his  brother,  as  they  rode 
along,  now  an  old  linden  almost  in  flower,  dark  on  its 
shady  side  and  variegated  with  yellow  stipules ;  now  at 
the  emerald-shining  young  shoots  of  that  same  year; 
but  Konstantin  did  not  himself  like  to  speak  or  to  hear 
about  the  beauties  of  nature.  Words,  he  thought,  spoiled 
the  beauty  of  the  thing  that  Ije  saw.  He  assented  to 
what  his  brother  said,  but  allowed  his  mind  to  concern 
itself  with  other  things.  After  they  left  the  wood,  his 
whole  attention  was  absorbed  by  a  fallow  field  on  a 
hillock,  where  in  some  places  the  grass  was  growing 
yellow,  where  in  others  whole  squares  of  it  had  been 
cut,  and  in  others  raked  up  into  haycocks,  and  where  in 

1  IJokus  mollis,  soft-grass. 


still  other  places  the  men  were  plowing.  The  carts 
were  thronging  up  toward  the  field.  Levin  counted 
them,  and  was  satisfied  with  the  work  which  was  going 

His  thoughts  were  diverted,  by  the  sight  of.  the 
meadows,  to  the  question  of  haymaking.  He  always 
experienced  something  which  went  to  his  very  heart  at 
the  hay-harvesting.  When  they  reached  the  meadow 
Levin  stopped  his  horse.  The  morning  dew  was  still 
damp  on  the  thick  grass,  and  Sergyei  Ivanovitch  begged 
his  brother,  in  order  that  he  might  not  wet  his  feet,  to 
drive  him  in  his  cabriolet  as  far  as  a  clump  of  laburnums 
near  which  perch  were  to  be  caught.  Though  Levin 
disliked  to  trample  down  his  grass,  he  drove  over  through 
the  field.  The  tall  grass  clung  round  the  wheels  and 
the  horse's  legs,  and  scattered  its  seed  on  the  damp 
spokes  and  naves. 

Sergyei  sat  down  under  the  laburnums,  and  cast  his 
line,  but  Levin  drove  the  horse  aside,  fastened  him,  and 
then  went  off  through  the  vast  green  sea  of  the  meadow 
unstirred  by  a  breath  of  wind.  The  silky  grass  with 
its  ripe  seeds  was  almost  waist-high  in  the  places  that 
had  been  overflowed. 

As  Konstantin  Levin  crossed  the  meadow  diagonally, 
he  met  on  the  road  an  old  man  with  one  of  his  eyes 
swollen,  and  carrying  a  swarming-basket  full  of  bees. 

"  Well  .-*     Have  you  caught  them,  Fomitch  }  "  he  asked. 

"  Caught  them  indeed,  Konstantin  Mitritch  !  If  only 
I  could  keep  my  own !  This  is  the  second  time  this 
swarm  has  gone  off, ....  but,  thanks  to  the  boys !  they 
galloped  after  'em  ! ....  They  *re  plowing  your  fields. 
They  unhitched  the  horse  and  dashed  off  after  'em!" .... 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say,  Fomitch,  should  we  begin 
mowing  or  wait .-'  " 

"  Just  as  you  say  !  According  to  our  notions  we  should 
wait  till  St.  Peter's  Day.^  But  you  always  mow  earlier. 
Well,  just  as  God  will  have  it  —  the  grass  is  in  fine  con- 
dition.    There  '11  be  plenty  of  room  for  the  cattle." 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  the  weather.?" 
1  The  feast  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  is  June  29  (O.S.),  or  July  II. 


"  Well,  all  is  in-  the  hand  of  God.  Maybe  the  weathei 
will  hold." 

Levin  returned  to  his  brother. 

Though  he  had  caught  nothing,  Sergyeif  Ivanovitch 
was  .undisturbed,  and  seemed  in  the  best  of  spirits. 
Levin  saw  that  he  was  stimulated  by  his  talk  with  the 
doctor,  and  that  he  was  eager  to  go  on  talking.  Levin, 
on  the  contrary,  was  anxious  to  get  back  to  the  house 
as  soon  as  possible  to  give  some  orders  about  hiring 
mowers  for  the  next  day,  and  to  decide  the  question 
about  the  haymaking  which  occupied  all  his  thoughts. 
"Well,"  said  he,  "  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  What  is  your  hurry  ,''  Do  let  us  sit  down.  But  how 
drenched  you  are  ! ....  No,  I  have  had  no  luck,  but  I  have 
enjoyed  it  all  the  same.  All  outdoor  sports  are  beautiful 
because  you  have  to  do  with  nature.  Now  just  notice 
how  charming  that  steely  water  is  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"These  meadow  banks,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "always 
remind  me  of  an  enigma,  do  you  know.?  —  'The  grass 
says  to  the  river,  "  We  have  strayed  far  enough,  we  have 
strayed  far  enough,"  '  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  riddle,"  interrupted  Konstantin, 
in  a  melancholy  tone. 


"  Do  you  know,  I  was  thinking  about  you,"  said 
Sergyeif  Ivanovitch.  "  It  is  not  well  at  all,  what  is 
going  on  in  your  district,  if  that  doctor  tells  the  truth  ; 
he  is  not  a  stupid  fellow.  And  I  have  told  you  all 
along,  and  I  say  to-day,  you  are  wrong  in  not  going  to 
the  assembly-meetings  and  in  generally  holding  aloof 
from  the  affairs  of  the  commune.  If  men  of  standing 
don't  take  an  interest  in  affairs,  God  knows  how  things 
will  turn  out.  The  taxes  we  pay  will  be  spent  in  salaries, 
and  not  for  schools,  or  hospitals,  or  midwives,  or  pharma- 
cies, or  anything." 

"  But    I    have   tried   it,"    replied    Levin,   faintly  and 


unwillingly.      "  I    can't   do   anything.     What   is  to  be 
done  about  it  ? " 

"  Now,  why  can't  you  do  anything  ?  I  confess  I  don't 
understand  it.  I  cannot  admit  that  it  is  indifference  or 
lack  of  intelligence  ;  is  n't  it  simply  laziness  ? " 

"  It  is  not  that,  or  the  first  or  the  second.  I  have 
tried  it,  and  I  see  that  I  cannot  do  anything,"  said 

•He  was  not  paying  great  heed  to  what  his  brother 
said,  but  was  looking  intently  across  the  fields  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river.  He  saw  something  black,  but 
he  could  not  make  out  whether  it  was  only  a  horse,  or 
his  overseer  on  horseback. 

"Why  can't  you  do  anything.-*  You  have  made  an 
experiment,  and  it  does  not  turn  out  to  your  satisfaction, 
and  you  give  up.  Why  not  have  a  little  pride  about 
you  ? " 

"  Pride  ? "  said  Levin,  touched  to  the  quick  by  his 
brother's  reproach.  *'  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do 
with  it.  If  at  the  university  they  had  told  me  that 
others  understood  the  integral  calculus,  but  I  did  not, 
that  would  have  touched  my  pride ;  but  here  one  must 
be  convinced  in  advance  that  one  needs  special  apti- 
tude for  these  things,  and  first  of  all  that  these  things 
are  very  important." 

"  What !  do  you  mean  to  say  that  they  are  not  impor- 
tant .'' "  asked  Sergyef  Ivanovitch,  in  his  turn  touched  to 
the  quick  because  his  brother  seemed  to  attach  so  little 
importance  to  what  so  deeply  interested  him,  and  more 
than  all  because  he  apparently  gave  him  such  poor 

"  What  you  wish  does  not  seem  to  me  important,  and 
I  cannot  feel  interested  in  it,"  replied  Levin,  who  now 
saw  that  the  black  speck  was  the  overseer,  and  that  the 
overseer  was  probably  taking  some  muzhiks  from  their 
work.  They  had  canted  over  their  plows.  "  Can  they 
have  finished  plowing .-'"  he  asked  himself. 

"  Now,  listen !  nevertheless,"  said  his  brother,  his 
handsome  intellectual  face  growing  a  shade  darker. 
"  There  are  limits  to  everything.     It  is  very  fine  to  be  an 


original  and  outspoken  man,  and  to  hate  falsehood,  — 
all  that  I  know ;  but  the  fact  is,  what  you  say  has  no 
sense  at  all,  or  has  a  very  bad  sense.  How  can  you 
think  it  unimportant  that  this  people,  which  you  love, 
as  you  assert.... " 

"  I  never  asserted  any  such  thing,"  said  Konstantin 
Levin  to  himself. 

"  That  this  people  should  perish  without  aid  .-*  Coarse 
peasant  women  act  as  midwives,  and  the  people  remain 
in  ignorance,  and  are  at  the  mercy  of  every  letter-writer. 
But  the  means  is  given  into  your  hands  to  remedy  all 
this ;  and  you  don't  assist  them,  because,  in  your  eyes, 
it  is  not  important." 

And  Sergyei'  Ivanovitch  offered  him  the  following  di- 
lemma :  — 

"  Either  you  are  not  developed  sufficiently  to  see  all 
that  you  might  do,  or  you  do  not  care  to  give  up  your 
own  comfort,  or  your  vanity,  I  don't  know  which,  in 
order  to  do  this." 

Konstantin  Levin  felt  that  he  must  make  a  defense, 
or  be  convicted  of  indifference  for  the  public  weal,  and 
this  was  vexatious  and  offensive  to  him. 

"  Ah !  but  there  is  still  another  thing,"  he  said  reso- 
lutely.    "  I  do  not  see  how  it  is  possible  ....  " 

"  What !  impossible  to  give  medical  aid  if  the  funds 
were  watched  more  closely  ? " 

"  Impossible  it  seems  to  me In  the  four  thousand 

square  versts  of  our  district,  with  our  floods,  snow-storms, 
and  busy  seasons,  I  don't  see  the  possibility  of  giving  pub- 
lic medical  aid.  Besides,  I  don't  much  believe  in  medi- 
cine, anyway." .... 

"  Well  now,  what  nonsense  !  you  are  unjust I  could 

name  you  a  thousand  cases ....  well,  but  how  about 
schools .'' " 

"  Why  schools  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  Can  you  doubt  the  advantages 
of  education  ?  If  it  is  good  for  you,  then  it  is  good  for 
every  one !" 

Konstantin  Levin  felt  that  he  was  morally  pushed  to 
the  wall ;  and  so  he  grew  irritated,  and  involuntarily 


revealed  the  chief  reason  for  his  indifference  to  the 
communal  affairs. 

"  Maybe  all  this  is  a  good  thing,"  said  he  ;  "but  why 
should  I  put  myself  out  to  have  medical  dispensaries 
located  which  I  shall  never  make  use  of,  or  schools 
where  I  shall  never  send  my  children,  and  where  the 
peasants  won't  want  to  send  their  children,  and  where  I 
am  not  sure  that  it  is  wise  to  send  them,  anyway  ?  " 

Sergyei'  Ivanovitch  for  a  moment  was  disconcerted  by 
this  unexpected  way  of  looking  at  the  matter ;  but  he 
immediately  developed  a  new  plan  of  attack.  He  was 
silent,  pulled  in  one  af  his  lines  and  wound  it  up ;  then 
with  a  smile  he  turned  to  his  brother :  — 

'•  Now,  excuse  me In  the  first  place,  the  dispensary 

has  proved  necessary.  Here,  we  ourselves  have  just 
sent  for  the  communal  doctor  for  Agafya  Mikhailovna." 

"Well,  I  still  think  her  wrist  was  out  of  joint." 

"That  remains  to  be  proved In  the  next  place,  the 

muzhik  who  can  read  is  a  better  workman,  and  more 
useful  to  you." 

"  Oh,  no !  "  replied  Konstantin  Levin,  resolutely. 
"  Ask  any  one  you  please,  they  will  tell  you  that  the 
educated  muzhik  is  far  worse  as  a  laborer.  He  will  not 
repair  the  roads  ;  and,  when  they  build  bridges,  he  will 
only  steal  the  planks." 

"  Now,  that  is  not  the  point,"  said  Sergyef,  frowning 
because  he  did  not  like  contradictions,  and  especially 
those  that  leaped  from  one  subject  to  another,  and  kept 
bringing  up  new  arguments  without  any  apparent  con- 
nection, so  that  it  was  impossible  to  know  what  to  say 
in  reply.  "  That  is  not  the  point.  Excuse  me.  Do 
you  admit  that  education  is  a  benefit  to  the  peasantry.-'" 

"I  do,"  said  Levin,  at  haphazard,  and  instantly  he 
saw  that  he  had  not  said  what  he  thought.  He  realized 
that,  by  making  this  admission,  it  would  be  easy  to 
convict  him  of  speaking  nonsense.  How  it  would  be 
brought  up  against  him  he  did  not  know ;  but  he  knew 
that  he  would  surely  be  shown  his  logical  inconsequence, 
and  he  awaited  the  demonstration.  It  came  much  sooner 
than  he  expected. 


"If  you  admit  its  value,"  said  Sergyef  Ivanovitch, 
"then,  as  an  honest  man,  you  cannot  refuse  to  delight 
in  this  work  and  sympathize  with  it,  and  give  it  your 

"  But  I  still  do  not  admit  that  this  activity  is  good," 
said  Konstantin  Levin,  his  face  flushing, 

"  What  ?     But  you  just  said  ...." 

"  That  is,  I  don't  say  that  it  is  bad,  but  that  it  is  not 

"  But  you  can't  know  this,  since  you  have  not  made 
any  effort  to  try  it." 

"  Well,  let  us  admit  that  the  education  of  the  people 
is  advantageous,"  said  Levin,  although  he  did  not  in 
the  least  admit  it.  "  Let  us  admit  that  it  is  so ;  still  I 
don't  see  why  I  should  bother  myself  with  it." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  we  are  going  to  discuss  the  question,  then 
explain  it  to  me  from  your  philosophical  point  of  view." 

"  I  don't  see  what  philosophy  has  to  do  here,"  retorted 
Sergyef  Ivanovitch,  in  a  tone  which  seemed  to  cast  some 
doubt  on  his  brother's  right  to  discuss  philosophy;  and 
this  nettled  Levin. 

"  This  is  why,"  said  he,  warmly.  "  I  think  that  the 
motive  power  in  all  our  actions  is  forever  personal  hap- 
piness. Now,  I  see  nothing  in  our  provincial  institu- 
tions that  contributes  to  my  well-being  as  a  nobleman. 
The  roads  are  not  better,  and  cannot  be  made  so.  My 
horses  carry  me,  even  on  bad  roads.  The  doctor  and 
the  dispensary  are  no  use  to  me.  The  justice  of  the 
peace  does  me  no  good ;  I  never  went  to  him,  and  never 
shall  go  to  him.  The  schools  seem  to  me  not  only  use- 
less, but,  as  I  have  said,  are  even  harmful ;  and  these 
communal  institutions  oblige  me  to  pay  eighteen  kopeks 
a  desyatin,  to  go  to  town,  to  sleep  with  bugs,  and  to 
hear  all  sorts  of  vulgar  and  obscene  talk,  but  my 
personal  interests  are  not  helped." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Sergyei  Ivanovitch,  with  a  smile. 
"  Our  personal  interests  did  not  compel  us  to  work  for 
the  emancipation  of  the  serfs,  and  yet  we  worked  for  it." 

"  No,"  replied  Konstantin,  with  still  more  animation ; 


"the  emancipation  of  the  serfs  was  quite  another  affair. 
It  was  for  personal  interest.  We  wanted  to  shake  off 
this  yoke  that  hung  on  the  necks  of  all  of  us  decent 
people.  But  to  be  a  member  of  the  council ;  to  discuss 
how  much  the  night  workman  should  be  paid,  and  how 
to  lay  sewer-pipes  in  streets  where  one  does  not  live  ;  to 
be  a  juryman,  and  sit  in  judgment  on  a  muzhik  who  has 
stolen  a  ham ;  to  listen  for  six  hours  to  all  sorts  of  rub- 
bish which  the  defendant  and  the  prosecutor  may  utter, 
and,  as  presiding  officer,  to  ask  my  old  friend,  the  half- 
idiotic  Aloshka,  '  Do  you  plead  guilty,  Mr.  Accused,  of 
having  stolen  this  ham  ?'  "  .... 

And  Konstantin,  carried  away  by  his  subject,  enacted 
the  scene  between  the  president  and  the  half-idiotic  Al- 
oshka. It  seemed  to  him  that  this  was  in  the  line  of 
the  argument. 

But  Sergyei  Ivanovitch  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Nu  !  what  do  you  mean  by  this  ?  " 

"  I  only  mean  that  I  will  always  defend  with  all  my 
powers  those  rights  which  touch  me,  —  my  interests ; 
that  when  the  policemen  came  to  search  us  students,  and 
read  our  letters,  I  was  ready  to  defend  these  rights  with 
all  my  might,  to  defend  my  rights  to  instruction,  to  lib- 
erty. I  am  interested  in  the  military  obligation  which 
concerns  the  fate  of  my  children,  of  my  brothers,  and  of 
myself.  I  am  willing  to  discuss  this  because  it  touches 
me  ;  but  to  deliberate  on  the  employment  of  forty  thou- 
sand rubles  of  communal  money,  or  to  judge  the  crack- 
brained  Aloshka,  I  won't  do  it,  and  I  can't." 

Konstantin  Levin  discoursed  as  if  the  fountains  of  his 
speech  were  unloosed.     Sergyei  Ivanovitch  smiled. 

"  Supposing  to-morrow  you.  were  arrested  ;  would  you 
prefer  to  be  tried  by  the  old  '  criminal  court '  ?  "  1 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  be  arrested.  I  am  not  going 
to  cut  any  one's  throat,  and  this  is  no  use  to  me.  Now, 
see  here !  "  he  continued,  again  jumping  to  a  matter  en- 
tirely foreign  to  their  subject,  "  our  provincial  institu- 
tions, and  all  that,  remind  me  of  the  little  twigs  which 
on  Trinity  day  we  stick  into  the  ground,  to  imitate  a 

^  Ugolovnaya  Palata, 


forest.  The  forest  has  grown  of  itself  in  Europe ;  but 
I  cannot  on  my  soul  have  any  faith  in  our  birch  sprouts, 
or  water  them." 

Sergyei  Ivanovitch  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  again, 
as  a  sign  of  astonishment  that  birch  twigs  should  be 
mingled  in  their  discussion,  although  he  understood  per- 
fectly what  his  brother  meant. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  he.     "That is  no  way  to  reason." 

But  Konstantin  Levin  was  eager  to  explain  his  self- 
confessed  lack  of  interest  in  matters  of  public  concern, 
and  he  went  on  to  say  :  — 

"  I  think  that  there  can  be  no  durable  activity  if  it  is 
not  founded  in  individual  interest  :  this  is  a  general,  a 
philosophical  truth,"  said  he,  laying  special  emphasis  on 
the  word  "  philosophical,"  as  if  he  wished  to  show  that  he 
also  had  the  right,  as  well  as  any  one  else,  to  speak  of 

Again  Sergyei  Ivanovitch  smiled.  **  He  also,"  thought 
he,  "  has  his  own  special  philosophy  for  the  benefit  of 
his  inclinations." 

"Well,  have  done  with  philosophy,"  he  said.  "Its 
chief  problem  has  been  in  all  times  to  grasp  the  indis- 
pensable bond  which  exists  between  the  individual  inter- 
est and  the  public  interest.  This  is  not  to  the  point, 
however.  But  I  can  make  your  comparison  fit  the  case. 
The  little  birch  twigs  have  not  been  merely  stuck  in, 
but  have  been  sowed,  planted,  and  it  is  necessary  to 
watch  them  carefully.  The  only  nations  which  can 
have  a  future,  the  only  nations  which  deserve  the  name 
of  historic,  are  those  which  feel  the  importance  and 
the  value  of  their  institutions,  and  prize  them." 

And  Sergyef  Ivanovitch  transferred  the  question  over 
into  the  domain  of  the  historico-philosophical,  which 
Konstantin  was  by  no  means  able  to  appreciate,  and 
showed  him  all  the  erroneousness  of  his  views. 

"  As  to  your  distaste  for  affairs,  excuse  me  if  I  refer 
it  to  our  Russian  indolence  and  gentility ;  ^  and  I  trust 
that  this  temporary  error  of  yours  will  pass  away." 

Konstantin  was   silent.     He   felt  himself  routed  on 

^  Barsivo,  Russian  rank.     The  stem  appears  in  the  word  barin,  master. 


every  side,  but  he  felt  also  that  his  brother  had  not 
understood  what  he  wished  to  say.  He  did  not  know 
exactly  whether  it  was  because  he  did  not  know  how  to 
express  himself  clearly,  or  because  his  brother  did  not  wish 
to  understand  him,  or  whether  he  could  not  understand 
him.  He  did  not  try  to  fathom  this  question ;  but,  with- 
out replying  to  his  brother,  he  became  absorbed  in  en- 
tirely different  thoughts,  connected  with  his  own  work. 
Sergyeif  Ivanovitch  reeled  in  his  last  line,  he  unhitched 
the  horse,  and  they  drove  away. 


The  thought  that  was  absorbing  Levin  at  the  time  of 
his  discussion  with  his  brother  was  this :  the  year  be- 
fore, having  come  one  day  to  the  hay-field.  Levin  had 
fallen  into  a  passion  with  his  overseer.  He  had  em- 
ployed his  favorite  means  of  calming  himself  —  had 
taken  the  scythe  from  a  muzhik  and  begun  to  mow. 

He  enjoyed  the  work  so  much  that  he  had  tried  it 
again  and  again.  He  had  mowed  the  whole  of  the 
lawn  in  front  of  his  house,  and  this  year  early  in  the 
spring  he  had  formulated  a  plan  of  spending  whole 
days  mowing  with  the  muzhiks. 

Since  his  brother's  arrival  he  had  been  in  doubt: 
Should  he  mow  or  not  ?  He  had  scruples  about  leaving 
his  brother  alone  for  whole  days  at  a  time,  and  he  was 
afraid  that  his  brother  would  make  sport  of  him  on  ac- 
count of  this.  But  as  they  crossed  the  meadow,  and  he 
recalled  the  impression  that  the  mowing  had  made  on 
him,  he  had  almost  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
mow.  Now  after  his  vexatious  discussion  with  his 
brother,  he  again  remembered  his  project. 

"  I  must  have  some  physical  exercise,  or  my  charac- 
ter will  absolutely  spoil,"  he  thought,  and  made  up  his 
mind  to  mow,  no  matter  what  his  brother  or  his  servants 
should  say. 

That  very  evening  Konstantin  Levin  went  to  the  office, 
gave  some  directions  about  the  work  to  be  done,  and 


sent  to  the  village  to  hire  some  mowers  for  the  morrow, 
so  as  to  attack  his  field  at  Kalinovo,  which  was  the 
largest  and  best. 

"  And  here,  please  send  my  scythe  over  to  Sef,  and 
have  him  put  it  in  order  and  bring  it  back  to-morrow ; 
perhaps  I  will  come  and  mow  too,"  said  he,  trying  to 
hide  his  confusion. 

The  overseer  smiled,  and  said  :  — 

"  I  will  obey  you  —  sluskayu-s." 

Later,  at  the  tea-table.  Levin  said  to  his  brother :  — 

"  It  seems  like  settled  weather.  To-morrow  I  am 
going  to  begin  mowing." 

"  I  like  this  work  very  much,"  said  Sergyei  Ivanovitch. 

"  I  like  it  extremely,"  said  Levin.  "  Last  year  I 
myself  mowed  with  the  muzhiks,  and  to-morrow  I  am 
going  to  spend  all  day  at  it." 

Sergyei  Ivanovitch  raised  his  head,  and  gazed  with 
astonishment  at  his  brother. 

"  What  did  you  say }  Like  the  muzhiks,  all  day 
long .? " 

"  Certainly  ;  it  is  very  enjoyable,"  said  Levin. 

•'  It  is  excellent  as  physical  exercise,  but  can  you  stand 
such  work  1  "  asked  Sergyei  Ivanovitch,  without  mean- 
ing to  say  anything  ironical. 

"  I  have  tried  it.  At  first  it  is  hard  work,  but  after- 
wards you  get  used  to  it.  I  think  I  shall  not  leave 
off."  .... 

"  Really !  but  tell  me,  how  do  the  muzhiks  look  at  it  .>' 
Naturally  they  make  sport  because  the  barin  is  queer, 
don't  they  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so ;  but  this  is  such  pleasant  and 
at  the  same  time  hard  work,  that  they  don't  think  about 

"  But  how  do  you  and  they  do  about  dinner }  You 
could  hardly  have  a  bottle  of  Lafitte  and  a  roast  turkey 
sent  you  out  there." 

"  No ;  I  come  home  while  the  workmen  have  their 

The  next  morning  Konstantin  Levin  got  up  earlier 
than  usual ;    but  his  duties  about  the  house  detained 


him,  and  when  he  came  to  the  mowing-field  he  found 
the  men  had  already  mowed  the  first  time  across. 

From  the  top  of  the  slope  the  part  of  the  meadow 
still  in  the  shade,  and  already  mowed,  spread  out  before 
him,  with  its  long  windrows  and  the  little  black  heaps 
of  kaftans  thrown  down  by  the  men  when  they  went  by 
the  first  time. 

As  he  drew  nearer  he  saw  also  the  band  of  muzhiks, 
some  in  their  kaftans,  some  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  mov- 
ing in  a  long  line,  and  swinging  their  scythes  in  unison. 
He  counted  forty-two  men  of  them.  They  were  advanc- 
ing slowly  over  the  uneven  bottom-land  of  the  meadow, 
where  there  was  an  old  dike.  Many  of  them  Levin 
knew.  There  was  the  old  round-shouldered  Yermil,  in 
a  very  clean  white  shirt,  wielding  the  scythe  ;  there  was 
the  young  small  Vaska,  who  used  to  be  Levin's  coach- 
man ;  there  was  Sef,  also,  a  little,  thin  old  peasant,^  who 
had  taught  him  how  to  mow.  He  was  cutting  a  wide 
swath  without  stooping,  and  handling  his  scythe  as  if 
he  were  playing  with  it. 

Levin  dismounted  from  his  horse,  tied  her  near  the 
road,  and  went  across  to  Sef,  who  immediately  got  a 
second  scythe  from  a  clump  of  bushes  and  handed  it  to 

"  All  ready,  barin  ;  't  is  like  a  razor,  -—  cuts  of  itself," 
said  Sef,  with  a  smile,  taking  off  his  cap  and  handing 
him  the  scythe. 

Levin  took  it  and  began  to  try  it.  The  mowers,  hav- 
ing finished  their  line,  were  returning  one  after  the  other 
on  their  track,  covered  with  sweat,  but  gay  and  lively. 
They  laughed  timidly,  and  saluted  the  barin.  All  of 
them  looked  at  him,  but  no  one  ventured  to  speak  until 
at  last  a  tall  old  man,  with  a  wrinkled,  beardless  face, 
and  dressed  in  a  sheepskin  jacket,  thus  addressed 
him  :  — 

"  Look  here,  barin,  if  you  put  your  hand  to  the  rope, 
you  must  not  let  go,"  said  he ;  and  Levin  heard  the 
sound  of  stifled  laughter  among  the  mowers. 

^  MuzJiichok,  diminutive  of  muzhik,  as  muzhik  is  diminutive  of  muzh,  a 

VOL.  II.  —  2 


"  I  will  try  not  to  be  left  behind,"  he  said,  as  he  took 
his  place  behind  Sef,  and  waited  for  the  signal  to 

"  'Tention  !  "  cried  the  old  man. 

Sef  opened  the  way,  and  Levin  followed  in  his  track. 
The  grass  was  short  and  tough ;  and  Levin,  who  had 
not  mowed  in  a  long  time,  and  was  confused  by  the 
watchful  eyes  of  the  men,  at  first  made  very  bad  work 
of  it,  though  he  swung  the  scythe  energetically.  Voices 
were  heard  behind  him  :  — 

"He  does  not  hold  his  scythe  right:  the  sned  is  too 
high.     See  how  he  stoops  like,"  said  one. 

"  Bears  his  hand  on  too  much,"  said  another. 

"  No  inatter,  it  goes  pretty  well,"  said  the  head 

"  Look,  he  goes  at  a  great  rate  !  Cuts  a  wide  swath  ! 
....  He  '11  get  played  out.  The  master  is  trying  it  for 
himself  as  hard  as  he  can,  but  look  at  his  row !  For 
such  work  my  brother  was  beaten  once." 

The  grass  became  less  tough ;  and  Levin,  listening 
and  making  no  reply,  trying  to  mow  as  well  as  he  could, 
followed  Sef.  Thus  they  went  a  hundred  steps.  Sef 
kept  on  without  any  intermission,  and  without  showing 
the  least  fatigue ;  but  Levin  began  by  this  time  to  feel 
terribly  and  feared  that  he  could  not  keep  it  up,  he  was 
so  tired. 

He  was  just  thinking  that  he  was  using  his  last 
strength  and  had  determined  to  ask  Sef  to  rest ;  but 
at  this  time  the  muzhik  of  his  own  accord  halted, 
bent  over,  and,  taking  a  handful  of  grass,  began  to 
wipe  his  scythe,  and  to  whet  it.  Levin  straightened 
himself  up,  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief  looked  about  him. 
Just  behind  was  a  peasant,  and  he  also  was  evidently 
tired,  because  instantly  without  catching  up  to  Levin  he 
also  stopped  and  began  to  whet  his  scythe.  Sef  whetted 
his  own  scythe  and  Levin's,  and  they  started  again. 

At  the  second  attempt  it  was  just  the  same.  Sef  ad- 
vanced a  step  at  every  swing  of  the  scythe,  without 
stopping  and  without  sign  of  weariness.  Levin  followed 
him,  striving  not  to  fall  behind;  but  each  moment  it 


came  harder  and  harder.  But,  as  before,  just  as  he 
believed  himself  at  the  end  of  his  forces,  Sef  stopped 
and  whetted  his  scythe. 

Thus  they  went  over  the  first  swath.  And  this  long 
stretch  seemed  especially  hard  for  Levin.  When  the 
swath  was  finished  and  Sef,  throwing  the  scythe  over 
his  shoulder,  slowly  walked  back  in  the  tracks  made  by 
his  heels  as  he  had  mowed,  and  Levin  also  retraced  his 
steps  in  the  same  way,  although  the  sweat  stood  on  his 
face  and  dropped  from  his  nose,  and  all  his  back  was  as 
wet  as  if  he  had  been  plunged  in  water ;  still  he  felt 
very  comfortable.  He  was  especially  glad  that  he  knew 
now  that  he  could  keep  up  with  the  rest. 

His  pleasure  was  marred  only  by  the  fact  that  his 
swath  was  not  good. 

"  I  will  work  less  with  my  arms  and  more  with  my 
whole  body,"  he  said  to  himself,  carefully  comparing 
Sef's  smooth  straight  swath  with  his  own  rough  and 
irregular  line. 

The  first  time,  as  Levin  observed,  Sef  went  very 
rapidly,  apparently  wishing  to  test  his  barin's  endur- 
ance, and  the  swath  seemed  endless.  But  the  succeed- 
ing swaths  grew  easier  and  easier.  Still  Levin  had  to 
exert  all  his  energies  .not  to  fall  behind  the  muzhiks. 
He  had  no  other  thought,  no  other  desire,  than  to  reach 
the  other  end  of  the  meadow  as  soon  as  the  others  did, 
and  to  do  his  work  as  perfectly  as  possible.  He  heard 
nothing  but  the  swish  of  the  scythes,  saw  nothing  but 
Sef's  straight  back,  plodding  on  in  front  of  him,  and  the 
semicircle  described  in  the  grass  which  fell  over,  slowly 
carrying  with  it  the  delicate  heads  of  flowers,  and  then 
far  in  front  of  him  the  end  of  the  row,  where  he  would 
be  able  to  get  breath. 

Not  at  first  realizing  what  it  was  or  whence  it  came, 
suddenly  in  the  midst  of  his  labors  he  felt  a  pleasant 
sensation  of  coolness  on  his  shoulders.  He  looked  up 
at  the  sky  while  Sef  was  plying  the  whetstone,  and  he 
saw  an  inky  black  cloud.  A  heavy  shower  had  come 
up  and  the  raindrops  were  falling  fast.  Some  of  the 
muzhiks   were   putting   on   their  kaftans;  others,   like 


Levin  himself,  were  glad  to  feel  the  rain  on  their  hot, 
sweaty  shoulders. 

The  work  went  on  and  on.  Some  of  the  swaths  were 
long,  others  were  shorter ;  here  the  grass  was  good, 
there  it  was  poor.  Levin  absolutely  lost  all  idea  of  time 
and  knew  not  whether  it  was  early  or  late.  In  his  work 
a  change  now  began  to  be  visible,  and  this  afforded  him 
vast  satisfaction.  While  he  was  engaged  in  this  labor 
there  were  moments  during  which  he  forgot  what  he 
was  doing  and  it  seemed  easy  to  him,  and  during  these 
moments  his  swath  came  out  almost  as  even  and  per- 
fect as  that  done  by  Sef.  But  as  soon  as  he  became 
conscious  of  what  he  was  doing  and  strove  to  do  better, 
he  immediately  began  to  feel  all  the  difficulty  of  the 
work  and  his  swath  became  poor. 

After  they  had  gone  over  the  field  one  more  time,  he 
started  to  turn  back  again ;  but  Sef  halted,  and,  going 
to  the  old  man,  whispered  something  to  him.  Then  the 
two  studied  the  sun. 

"  What  are  they  talking  about  ?  and  why  don't  they 
keep  on  .-*  "  thought  Levin,  without  considering  that  the 
muzhiks  had  been  mowing  for  more  than  four  hours,  and 
it  was  time  for  them  to  have  their  morning  meal. 

"  Breakfast,  barin,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Time,  is  it.?     Well,  breakfast,  then." 

Levin  gave  his  scythe  to  Sef,  and  together  with  the 
muzhiks,  who  were  going  to  their  kaftans  for  their  bread, 
he  crossed  the  wide  stretch  of  field,  where  the  mown 
grass  lay  lightly  moistened  by  the  shower,  and  went  to 
his  horse.  Then  only  he  perceived  that  he  had  made  a 
false  prediction  about  the  weather,  and  that  the  rain  had 
wet  his  hay. 

"The  hay  will  be  spoiled,"  he  said. 

"  No  harm  done,  barin ;  mow  in  the  rain,  rake  in  the 
sun,"  said  the  old  man. 

Levin  unhitched  his  horse  and  went  home  to  take 

SergyeY  Ivanovitch  had  just  got  up ;  before  he  was 
dressed  and  down  in  the  dining-room,  Konstantin  was 
back  to  the  field  again. 



After  breakfast,  Levin  took  his  place  in  the  line  not 
where  he  had  been  before,  but  between  the  quizzical  old 
man,  who  asked  him  to  be  his  neighbor,  and  a  young 
muzhik  who  had  been  married  only  since  autumn  and 
was  now  mowing  for  the  first  time. 

The  old  man,  standing  very  erect,  mowed  straight 
on,  with  long,  regular  strides ;  and  the  swinging  of  the 
scythe  seemed  no  more  like  labor  than  the  swinging 
of  his  arms  when  walking.  His  well-whetted  scythe 
cut,  as  it  were,  of  its  own  energy  through  the  succulent 

Behind  Levin  came  the  young  Mishka.  His  pleasant, 
youthful  face,  under  a  wreath  of  green  grass  which  bound 
his  hair,  worked  with  the  energy  that  employed  the  rest 
of  his  body.  But  when  any  one  looked  at  him,  he  would 
smile.  He  would  rather  die  than  confess  that  he  found 
the  labor  hard. 

Levin  went  between  the  two. 

The  labor  seemed  lighter  to  him  during  the  heat  of 
the  day.  The  sweat  in  which  he  was  bathed  refreshed 
him ;  and  the  sun,  burning  his  back,  his  head,  and  his 
arms  bared  to  the  elbow,  gave  him  force  and  tenacity 
for  his  work.  More  and  more  frequently  the  moments 
of  oblivion,  of  unconsciousness  of  what  he  was  doing, 
came  back  to  him ;  the  scythe  went  of  itself.  Those 
were  happy  moments.  Then,  still  more  gladsome  were 
the  moments  when,  coming  to  the  river  where  the  wind- 
rows ended,  the  old  man,  wiping  his  scythe  with  the 
moist,  thick  grass,  rinsed  the  steel  in  the  river,  then, 
dipping  up  a  ladleful  of  the  cool  water,  gave  it  to 

"  This  is  my  kvas  !  It 's  good,  is  n't  it .!"  "  he  exclaimed, 

And,  indeed,  it  seemed  to  Levin  that  he  had  never 
tasted  any  liquor  more  refreshing  than  this  lukewarm 
water,  in  which  grass  floated,  and  tasting  of  the  rusty 
tin  cup.      Then   came   the   glorious   slow  promenade, 


when,  with  scythe  on  the  arm,  there  was  time  to  wipe 
the  heated  brow,  fill  the  lungs  full,  and  glance  round  at 
the  long  line  of  haymakers,  and  the  busy  work  that  had 
been  accomplished  in  field  and  forest. 

The  longer  Levin  mowed,  the  more  frequently  he 
felt  the  moments  of  oblivion,  when  his  hands  did  not 
wield  the  scythe,  but  the  scythe  seemed  to  have  a  self- 
conscious  body,  full  of  life,  and  carrying  on,  as  it  were 
by  enchantment,  a  regular  and  systematic  work.  These 
were  indeed  joyful  moments. 

It  was  hard  only  when  he  was  obliged  to  interrupt 
this  unconscious  activity  to  think  about  something,  when 
he  had  to  remove  a  clod  or  a  clump  of  wild  sorrel.  The 
old  man  did  this  easily.  When  he  came  to  a  clod,  he 
changed  his  motion  and  now  with  his  heel,  now  with 
the  end  of  the  scythe,  pushed  it  aside  with  repeated 
taps.  And  while  doing  this  he  noticed  everything  and 
examined  everything  that  was  to  be  seen.  Now  he 
picked  a  strawberry,  and  ate  it  himself  or  gave  it  to 
Levin ;  now  snipped  off  a  twig  with  the  end  of  the 
scythe ;  now  he  discovered  a  nest  of  quail  from  which 
the  mother  was  scurrying  away,  or  impaled  a  snake  as 
if  with  a  spear,  and,  having  shown  it  to  Levin,  flung  it 
out  of  the  way. 

But  for  Levin  and  the  young  fellow  behind  him  these 
changes  of  motion  were  difficult.  When  once  they  got 
into  the  swing  of  work,  they  could  not  easily  change 
their  movements  and  at  the  same  time  observe  what 
was  before  them. 

Levin  did  not  realize  how  the  time  was  flying.  If  he 
had  been  asked  how  long  he  had  been  mowing,  he 
would  have  answered,  "  Half  an  hour ;  "  and  here  it 
was  almost  dinner-time. 

After  they  finished  one  row,  the  old  man  drew  his 
attention  to  some  little  girls  and  boys,  half  concealed 
by  the  tall  grass,  who  were  coming  from  all  sides, 
through  the  tall  grass  and  down  the  roads,  bringing  to 
the  haymakers  their  parcels  of  bread  and  rag-stoppered 
jugs  of  kvas,  which  seemed  too  heavy  for  their  little 


"See!  here  come  the  midgets,"^  said  he,  pointing  to 
them  ;  and,  shading  his  eyes,  he  looked  at  the  sun. 

Twice  more  they  went  across  the  field,  and  then  the 
old  man  stopped. 

"  Well,  barin,  dinner,"  said  he,  in  a  decided  tone. 

Then  the  mowers,  walking  along  the  riverside,  went 
back  through  the  windrows  to  their  kaftans,  where  the 
children  were  waiting  with  the  dinners.  The  muzhiks 
gathered  together ;  some  clustered  around  the  carts, 
others  sat  in  the  shade  of  a  laburnum  bush,  where  the 
mown  grass  was  heaped  up. 

Levin  sat  down  near  them ;  he  had  no  wish  to  leave 

All  constraint  in  the  presence  of  the  barin  had  disap- 
peared. The  muzhiks  prepared  to  take  their  dinner. 
Some  washed  themselves,  the  children  went  in  swim- 
ming in  the  river,  others  found  places  to  nap  in,  or 
undid  their  bags  of  bread  and  uncorked  their  jugs  of 

The  old  man  crumbed  his  bread  into  his  cup,  mashed 
it  with  the  shank  of  his  spoon,  poured  water  on  from 
his  tin  basin,  and,  cutting  off  still  more  bread,  he  salted 
the  whole  plentifully ;  and,  turning  to  the  east,  he  said 
his  prayer. 

"  Here  now,  barin,  try  my  bread-crumbs  !  "^  said  he, 
kneeling  down  before  his  cup. 

Levin  found  the  soaked  bread  so  palatable  that  he 
decided  not  to  go  home  to  dinner.  He  dined  with  the 
old  man,  and  talked  with  him  about  his  domestic  affairs, 
in  which  he  took  a  lively  interest,  and  in  his  turn  told 
the  old  man  about  such  of  his  plans  and  projects  as 
would  interest  him. 

He  felt  far  nearer  to  him  than  to  his  brother,  and  he 
could  not  help  smiling  at  the  affection  which  he  felt  for 
this  simple-hearted  man. 

When  the  old  man  got  up  from  his  dinner,  offered 

1  Kozyavki,  ladybugs. 

2  Tiurka,  diminutive  of  tiura,  a  bread-crumb  soaked  in  kvas^  or  beer. 
The  starik  used  water  instead  of  kvas.  Kvas  is  a  drink  made  of  fermented 
rye  meal  or  bread  with  malt. 


another  prayer,  and  arranged  a  pillow  of  fresh-mown 
grass;  and  composed  himself  for  a  nap,  Levin  did  the 
same  ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  stubborn,  sticky  flies  and 
insects  tickling  his  heated  face  and  body,  he  immedi- 
ately went  off  to  sleep,  and  did  not  wake  until  the 
sun  came  out  on  the  other  side  of  the  laburnum  bush 
and  began  to  shine  in  his  face.  The  starik  had  been 
long  awake,  and  was  sitting  up  cutting  the  children's 

Levin  looked  around  him,  and  did  not  know  where  he 
was.  Everything  seemed  so  changed.  The  vast  level 
of  the  mown  meadow  with  its  windrows  of  already 
fragrant  hay  was  lighted  and  glorified  in  a  new  fashion 
by  the  oblique  rays  of  the  afternoon  sun.  The  trimmed 
bushes  down  by  the  river,  and  the  river  itself,  before  in- 
visible but  now  shining  like  steel  with  its  windings ; 
and  the  busy  peasantry ;  and  the  high  wall  of  grass, 
where  the  meadow  was  not  yet  mowed ;  and  the  young 
vultures  flying  high  above  the  bare  field,  —  all  this  was 
absolutely  new  to  him. 

Levin  calculated  how  much  had  been  mowed,  and 
how  much  could  still  be  done  that  day.  The  work 
accomplished  by  the  forty-two  men  was  considerable. 
The  whole  great  meadow,  which  in  the  time  of  serfdom 
used  to  take  thirty  scythes  two  days,  was  now  almost 
mowed ;  only  a  few  corners  with  short  rows  were  left. 
But  Levin  wanted  to  do  as  much  as  possible  that  day, 
and  he  was  vexed  at  the  sun  which  was  sinking  too 
early.  He  felt  no  fatigue;  he  only  wanted  to  do  more 
rapid  work,  and  get  as  much  done  as  was  possible. 

"  Do  you  think  we  shall  get  Mashkin  Verkh  ^  mowed 
to-day.!" "  he  asked  of  the  old  man. 

"  If  God  allows;  the  sun  is  getting  low.  Will  there 
be  little  sips  of  vodka  for  the  boys?  " 

At  the  time  of  the  mid-afternoon  luncheon,  when  the 
men  rested  again,  and  the  smokers  were  lighting  their 
pipes,  the  elder  announced  to  the  "boys  "  :  — 

"  Mow  Mashkin  Verkh  —  extra  vodka  !  " 

"  All  right !     Come  on,  Sef !     Let 's  tackle  it  lively, 

1  Mashka's  Hillside. 


We  '11  eat  after  dark.  Come  on  !  "  cried  several  voices ; 
and,  even  while  still  munching  their  bread,  they  got  to 
work  again. 

"  Well,  boys,  keep  up  good  hearts  !  "  said  Sef,  setting 
off  almost  on  the  run. 

"Come,  come!"  cried  the  old  man,  hastening  after 
him  and  easily  outstripping  him.  "  I  am  first.  Look 

Old  and  young  mowed  as  if  they  were  racing ;  and 
yet,  with  all  their  haste,  they  did  not  spoil  their  work, 
but  the  windrows  lay  in  neat  and  regular  swaths. 

The  triangle  was  finished  in  five  minutes.  The  last 
mowers  had  just  finished  their  line,  when  the  first,  throw- 
ing their  kaftans  over  their  shoulders,  started  down  the 
road  to  the  Mashkin  Verkh. 

The  sun  was  just  hovering  over  the  tree-tops,  when, 
with  rattling  cans,  they  came  to  the  little  wooded  ravine 
of  Mashkin  Verkh. 

The  grass  here  was  as  high  as  a  man's  waist,  tender, 
succulent,  thick,  and  variegated  with  the  flower  called 

After  a  short  parley,  to  decide  whether  to  take  it 
across,  or  lengthwise,  an  experienced  mower,  Prokhor 
Yermilin,  a  huge,  black-bearded  muzhik,  went  over  it 
first.  He  took  it  lengthwise,  and  came  back  in  his 
track;  and  then  all  followed  him,  going  along  the  hill 
above  the  hollow,  and  skirting  the  wood.  The  sun  was 
setting.  The  light  was  going  behind  the  forest.  The 
dew  was  already  falling.  Only  the  mowers  on  the 
ridge  were  in  the  sun ;  but  down  in  the  hollow,  where 
the  mist  was  beginning  to  rise,  and  behind  the  slope, 
they  went  in  fresh,  dewy  shade. 

The  work  went  on.  The  grass,  cut  off  with  a  juicy 
sound,  and  falling  evenly,  lay  in  high  windrows.  The 
mowers  came  close  together  from  all  sides  as  the  rows 
converged,  rattling  their  drinking-cups,  sometimes  hit- 
ting their  scythes  together,  working  with  joyful  shouts, 
rallying  one  another. 

Levin  still  kept  his  place  between  the  short  young 
man   and   the   elder.     The   elder,  with    his   sheepskin 


jacket  loosened,  was  as  gay,  jocose,  free  in  his  move> 
ments  as  ever. 

They  kept  finding  birch-mushrooms  in  the  woods, 
lurking  in  the  juicy  grass  and  cut  off  by  the  scythes. 
But  the  elder  bent  down  whenever  he  saw  one,  and^ 
picking  it,  put  it  in  his  breast. 

"  Still  another  little  present  for  my  old  woman,"  he 
would  say. 

Easy  as  it  was  to  mow  the  tender  and  soft  grass,  it 
was  hard  to  climb  and  descend  the  steep  sides  of  the 
ravine.  But  the  elder  did  not  let  this  appear.  Always 
lightly  swinging  his  scythe,  he  climbed  with  short,  firm 
steps,  and  his  feet  shod  in  huge  lapti,  or  bast  shoes, 
though  he  trembled  with  his  whole  body,  and  his  drawers 
were  slipping  down  below  his  shirt,  he  let  nothing  escape 
him,  not  an  herb  or  a  mushroom ;  and  he  never  ceased 
to  joke  with  Levin  and  the  muzhiks. 

Levin  went  behind  him,  and  more  than  once  felt  that 
he  would  surely  drop,  trying  to  climb,  scythe  in  hand, 
this  steep  hillside,  where  even  unencumbered  it  would 
be  hard  to  go.  But  he  persevered  all  the  same,  and  did 
what  was  required.  He  felt  as  if  some  interior  force 
sustained  him. 


The  men  had  mowed  the  Mashkin  Verkh,  they  had 
finished  the  last  rows,  and  had  taken  their  kaftans,  and 
were  gayly  going  home.  Levin  mounted  his  horse  and 
regretfully  took  leave  of  his  companions.  On  the  hill- 
top he  turned  round  to  take  a  last  look ;  but  the  even- 
ing's mist,  rising  from  the  bottoms,  hid  them  from 
sight;  but  he  could  hear  their  loud,  happy  voices  and 
laughter  and  the  sound  of  their  clinging  scythes. 

SergyeY  Ivanovitch  had  long  finished  dinner,  and, 
sitting  in  his  room,  was  taking  iced  lemonade,  and  read- 
ing the  papers  and  reviews  which  had  just  come  from 
the  post,  when  Levin,  with  his  disordered  hair  matted 
down  on  his  brow  with  perspiration,  and  with  his  back 


and  chest  black  and  wet,  came  into  the  room  and  joined 
him,  full  of  lively  talk. 

"Well!  we  mowed  the  whole  meadow.  Akh  !  How 
good,  how  delightful !  And  how  has  the  day  passed 
with  you  ? "  he  asked,  completely  forgetting  the  un- 
pleasant conversation  of  the  evening  before. 

"Ye  saints!  How  you  look!"  exclaimed  Sergyei 
Tvanovitch,  staring  at  first  not  over-pleasantly  at  his 
brother.  "There,  shut  the  door,  shut  the  door!"  he 
cried.     "  You  've  certainly  let  in  more  than  a  dozen  !  " 

Sergyei"  Ivanovitch  could  not  endure  flies ;  and  he 
never  opened  his  bedroom  windows  except  at  night,  and 
he  made  it  a  point  to  keep  his  doors  always  shut. 

"Indeed,  not  a  one!  If  I  have,  I '11  catch  him!.... 
If  you  knew  what  fun  I  've  had !  And  how  has  it  gone 
with  you .'' " 

"  First-rate.  But  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you 
have  been  mowing  all  day  ?  You  must  be  hungry  as  a 
wolf.     Kuzma  has  your  dinner  all  ready  for  you." 

"  No ;  I  am  not  hungry.  I  ate  yonder.  But  I  'm 
going  to  polish  myself  up." 

"  All  right,  I  '11  join  you  later,"  said  SergyeT  Ivano- 
vitch, shaking  his  head  and  gazing  at  his  brother.  "Be 
quick  about  it,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  arranging  his 
papers  and  getting  ready  to  follow ;  he  also  suddenly 
felt  enlivened,  and  was  unwilling  to  be  away  from  his 
brother.  "Well,  but  where  were  you  during  the 
shower  .-* " 

"  What  shower  ?  Only  a  drop  or  two  fell.  I  '11  soon 
be  back.  And  did  the  day  go  pleasantly  with  you .'' 
Well,  that 's  capital !  " 

And  Levin  went  to  dress. 

About  five  minutes  afterwards  the  brothers  met  in  the 
dining-room.  Although  Levin  imagined  that  he  was  not 
hungry,  and  he  sat  down  only  so  as  not  to  hurt  Kuzma's 
feelings,  yet  when  he  once  began  eating,  he  found  it  ex- 
cellent.    Sergyei  Ivanovitch  looked  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  's  a  letter  for  you,"  he  said.  "  Kuzma, 
go  and  get  it.  Be  careful  and  see  that  you  shut  the 


The  letter  was  from  Oblonsky.  Levin  read  it  aloud. 
It  was  dated  from  Petersburg  :  — 

I  have  just  heard  from  Dolly  ;  she  is  at  Yergushovo  ;  every- 
thing is  going  wrong  with  her.  Please  go  and  see  her,  and 
give  her  your  advice,  —  you  who  know  everything.  She  will  be 
so  glad  to  see  you  !  She  is  all  alone,  wretched.  The  mother- 
in-law  is  still  abroad  with  the  family. 

"  This  is  admirable  !  Certainly  I  will  go  to  see  her," 
said  Levin.  "  Let  us  go  together.  She  is  a  glorious 
woman  ;  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  And  they  live  near  you  .-•  " 

"  About  thirty  versts,  possibly  forty.  But  there  's  a 
good  road.     We  can  cover  it  quickly." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  said  SergyeY  Ivanovitch, 
smiling.  The  sight  of  his  brother  immediately  filled 
him  with  happiness.  "  Well  there  !  what  an  appetite  you 
have !  "  he  added,  looking  at  his  tanned,  sunburned, 
glowing  face  and  neck,  as  he  bent  over  his  plate. 

"  Excellent !  You  can't  imagine  how  useful  this 
regime  is  against  whims !  I  am  going  to  enrich  medi- 
cine with  a  new  term,  arbeitskur — labor-cure." 

"  Well ,  you  don't  seem  to  need  it  much,  it  seems  to 

"  Yes ;  it  is  a  sovereign  specific  against  nervous 

"  It  must  be  looked  into.  I  was  coming  to  see  you 
mow,  but  the  heat  was  so  insupportable  that  I  did  not 
go  farther  than  the  wood.  I  rested  awhile,  and  then  I 
went  to  the  village.  I  met  your  nurse  there,  and 
sounded  her  as  to  what  the  muzhiks  thought  about  you. 
As  I  understand  it,  they  don't  approve  of  you.  She 
said,  '  Not  gentlemen's  work.'  I  think  that,  as  a  gen- 
eral thing,  the  peasantry  form  very  definite  ideas  aboul; 
what  is  becoming  for  the  gentry  to  do,  and  they  don't 
like  to  have  them  go  outside  of  certain  fixed  limits." 

"  Maybe ;  but  you  see  I  have  never  enjoyed  anything 
more  in  all  my  life,  and  I  do  not  do  anybody  any  harm, 
do  I .''  "  asked  Levin.  "  And  suppose  it  does  n't  please 
them,  what  is  to  be  done  }     Whose  business  is  it .''  " 


"  Well,  I  see  you  are  well  satisfied  with  your  day," 
replied  Sergyef  Ivanovitch. 

"  Very  well  satisfied.  We  mowed  the  whole  meadow, 
and  I  made  such  friends  with  an  old  man  —  the  elder. 
You  can't  imagine  how  he  pleased  me." 

"  Well,  you  are  satisfied  with  your  day !  So  am  I 
with  mine.  In  the  first  place,  I  solved  two  chess  prob- 
lems, and  one  was  a  beauty  —  it  opened  with  a  pawn. 
I  '11  show  it  to  you.  And  then  —  I  thought  of  our  last 
evening's  discussion." 

"  What  .-*  Our  last  evening's  discussion  ?  "  said  Levin, 
half  closing  his  eyes,  and  drawing  a  long  breath  with  a 
sensation  of  comfort  after  his  dinner,  and  really  unable 
to  recollect  the  subject  of  their  discussion. 

"  I  come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  are  partly  in  the 
right.  The  discrepancy  in  our  views  lies  in  the  fact 
that  you  assume  personal  interest  as  the  motive  power 
of  our  actions,  while  I  claim  that  every  man  who  has 
reached  a  certain  stage  of  intellectual  development  must 
have  for  his  motive  the  public  interest.  But  you  are 
probably  right  in  saying  that  materially  interested  activity 
would  be  more  to  be  desired.  Your  nature  is,  as  the 
French  say,  prhnesautiere}  You  want  strong,  energetic 
activity,  or  nothing." 

Levin  listened  to  his  brother,  but  he  did  not  under- 
stand him  at  all,  and  did  not  try  to  understand.  His 
only  fear  was  that  his  brother  would  ask  him  some 
question,  by  which  it  would  become  evident  that  he  was 
not  listening. 

"  How  is  this,  my  dear  boy } "  asked  Sergyef  Ivano- 
vitch, touching  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Yes,  of  course.  But,  then,  I  don't  set  much  store 
on  my  own  opinions,"  replied  Levin,  smiling  like  a 
guilty  child.  His  thought  was,  "  What  was  our  discus- 
sion about .''  Of  course  ;  I  am  right,  and  he  is  right,  and 
all  is  charming.  But  I  must  go  the  office  and  give  my 
orders."     He  arose,  stretching  himself  and  smiling. 

SergyeY  Ivanovitch  also  smiled. 

"  If  you  want  to  go  out,  let 's  go  together,"  he  said, 

1  Off-hand. 


not  wanting  to  be  away  from  his  brother,  from  whom 
emanated  such  a  spirit  of  freshness  and  good  cheer. 
"  If  you  must  go  the  office,  I  '11  go  with  you." 

"  O  ye  saints !  "  exclaimed  Levin,  so  loud  that  Ser- 
geyif  Ivanovitch  was  startled. 

"What's  the  matter.?" 

"  Agafya  Mikhai'lovna's  hand,"  said  Levin,  striking 
his  forehead.     "  I  had  forgotten  all  about  her." 

"  She  is  much  better." 

"  Well,  I  must  go  to  her,  all  the  same.  I  '11  be  back 
before  you  get  on  your  hat." 

And  he  started  down-stairs  on  the  run,  his  heels 
clattering  on  the  steps. 


At  the  time  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  was  off  to  Peters- 
burg to  fulfil  the  most  natural  of  obligations,  without 
which  the  service  could  not  exist,  unquestioned  by  all 
functionaries,  however  unimportant  for  non-function- 
aries —  that  of  reporting  to  the  ministry,  and  while 
fulfilling  this  obligation,  being  well  supplied  with 
money,  was  enjoying  himself  at  the  races  and  his 
friends'  datchas,  Dolly,  with  the  children,  was  on  her 
way  to  the  country,  in  order  to  reduce  the  expenses  as 
much  as  possible.  She  was  going  to  their  country- 
place  at  Yergushovo,  an  estate  which  had  been  a  part 
of  her  dowry.  It  was  where  the  wood  had  been  sold 
in  the  spring,  and  was  situated  about  fifty  versts  from 
Levin's  Pokrovsky. 

The  large  old  mansion  at  Yergushovo  had  long  been 
demolished,  and  the  prince  had  contented  himself  with 
enlarging  and  repairing  one  of  the  wings.  Twenty 
years  before,  when  Dolly  was  a  little  girl,  this  wing 
was  spacious  and  comfortable,  though,  in  the  manner 
of  all  wings,  it  stood  sidewise  as  regarded  the  avenue 
and  the  south.  But  now  this  wing  was  old  and  out  of 
repair.  When  Stepan  Arkadyevitch  went  down  in  the 
spring  to  sell  the  wood,  Dolly  asked  him  to  look  over 


the  house  and  have  done  to  it  whatever  was  necessary 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch,  like  all  guilty  husbands,  being 
deeply  concerned  for  his  wife's  comfort,  inspected  the 
house  and  made  arrangements  to  have  everything  done 
that,  in  his  opinion,  was  necessary.  In  his  opinion  it 
was  necessary  to  have  the  furniture  covered  with  cre- 
tonne, to  hang  curtains,  to  clear  up  the  garden,  to  plant 
flowers,  and  to  build  a  bridge  across  the  pond ;  but  he 
had  overlooked  many  more  essential  matters,  the  lack 
of  which  afterwards  caused  Darya  Aleksandrovna  great 

Although  Stepan  strove  to  be  a  solicitous  husband 
and  father,  he  never  could  realize  that  he  had  a  wife 
and  children.  His  tastes  remained  those  of  a  bachelor, 
and  to  them  he  conformed.  When  he  got  back  to  Mos- 
cow he  proudly  assured  his  wife  that  everything  was 
in  prime  order,  that  the  house  would  be  perfection,  and 
he  advised  her  strongly  to  go  there  immediately.  To 
Stepan  Arkadyevitch  his  wife's  departure  to  the  country 
was  delightful  in  many  ways :  it  would  be  healthy  for 
the  children,  expenses  would  be  lessened,  and  he  would 
be  freer. 

Darya  Aleksandrovna,  on  her  part,  felt  that  a  sum- 
mer in  the  country  was  indispensable  for  the  children, 
and  especially  for  the  youngest  little  girl,  who  gained 
very  slowly  after  the  scarlatina.  Moreover,  she  would 
be  freed  from  petty  humiliations,  from  little  duns  of  the 
butcher,  the  fish-dealer,  and  the  baker,  which  troubled 

And  above  all  the  departure  was  very  pleasant  to  her 
for  the  especial  reason  that  the  happy  thought  had  oc- 
curred to  her  to  invite  her  sister  Kitty,  who  was  coming 
home  from  abroad  about  the  middle  of  the  summer  and 
had  been  advised  to  take  some  cold  baths.  '  Kitty  wrote 
her  from  the  Spa  that  nothing  would  delight  her  so 
much  as  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  summer  with  her  at 
Yergushovo,  that  place  that  was  so  full  of  happy  child- 
hood memories  for  both  of  them. 

The  first  part  of  the  time  country  life  was  very  hard 
for  Dolly.     She  had  lived  there  when  she  was  a  child, 


and  it  had  left  the  impression  that  it  was  a  refuge  from 
all  the  trials  of  the  city,  and  if  it  was  not  very  elegant, 
—  and  Dolly  was  willing  to  put  up  with  that,  —  at  least, 
it  would  be  comfortable  and  inexpensive,  and  the  chil- 
dren would  be  happy.  But  now,  when  she  came  there 
as  mistress  of  the  house,  she  found  that  things  were  not 
at  all  as  she  had  expected. 

*  On  the  morning  after  their  arrival,  it  began  to  rain 
in  torrents,  and  by  night  the  water  was  leaking  in  the 
corridor  and  the  nursery,  so  that  the  little  beds  had  to 
be  brought  down  into  the  parlor.  It  was  impossible  to 
find  a  cook.  Among  the  nine  cows  in  the  barn,  accord- 
ing to  the  dairywoman's  report,  some  were  going  to 
calve,  some  had  their  first  calf,  still  others  were  too  old, 
and  the  rest  had  trouble  with  their  udders,  consequently 
they  could  not  have  butter,  or  even  milk  for  the  chil- 
dren. Not  an  egg  was  to  be  had.  It  was  impossible 
to  find  a  hen.  They  had  for  roasting  or  broiling  only 
tough  old  purple  roosters.  No  women  were  to  be  found 
to  do  the  washing  —  all  were  at  work  on  the  potatoes. 

They  could  not  go  driving,  because  one  of  the  horses 
was  restive  and  pulled  at  the  pole.  There  was  no 
chance  for  bathing,  because  the  bank  of  the  river  had 
been  trodden  into  a  quagmire  by  the  cattle,  and  was 
visible  from  the  road.  They  could  not  even  go  out 
walking,  because  the  cattle  had  got  into  the  garden, 
through  the  tumble-down  fences,  and  there  was  a  terri- 
ble bull  which  bellowed,  and  therefore,  of  course,  tossed 
people  with  his  horns.  In  the  house,  there  was  no 
clothes-press.  The  closet  doors  either  would  not  shut, 
or  flew  open  when  any  one  passed.  In  the  kitchen, 
there  were  no  pots  or  kettles.  In  the  laundry,  there 
were  no  tubs,  or  even  any  scrubbing-boards  for  the 

At  first,  therefore,  finding  herself  plunged  into  what 
seemed  to  her  such  terrible  straits,  instead  of  the  rest 
and  peace  which  she  expected,  Darya  Aleksandrovna 
was  in  despair.  Though  she  exerted  all  her  energies, 
she  felt  the  helplessness  of  her  situation,  and  could  not 
keep  back  her  tears. 


The  steward,  who  had  been  formerly  a  vakhmistr,  or 
quartermaster  in  the  army,  and  on  account  of  his  good 
looks  and  fine  presence  had  been  promoted  by  Stepan 
Arkadyevitch  from  his  place  as  Swiss,  showed  no  sym- 
pathy with  Darya  Aleksandrovna's  tribulations,  but  sim- 
ply said  in  his  respectful  way  :  — 

"  Nothing  can  be  done,  such  a  beastly  peasantry !  " 
and  would  not  raise  his  hand  to  help. 

The  situation  seemed  hopeless ;  but  in  the  Oblonsky 
household,  as  in  all  well-regulated  homes,  there  was  one 
humble  but  still  important  and  useful  member,  Matriona 
Filimonovna.  She  calmed  the  baruinya,  telling  her  that 
"  all  would  come  out  right,"  —  that  was  her  phrase,  and 
Matvei"  had  borrowed  it  from  her,  —  and  she  went  to 
work  without  fuss  and  without  bother. 

She  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  overseer's 
wife,  and  on  the  very  day  of  their  arrival  went  to  take 
tea  with  her  and  the  overseer  under  the  acacias,  and 
discussed  with  them  the  state  of  affairs.  A  club  was 
quickly  organized  by  Matriona  Filimonovna  under  the 
acacia ;  and  then  through  this  club,  which  was  com- 
posed of  the  overseer's  wife,  the  starosta,  or  village  elder, 
and  the  bookkeeper,  the  difficulties,  one  by  one,  disap- 
peared, and  within  a  week  everything,  as  Matriona  said. 
"  came  out  all  right."  The  roof  was  patched  up ;  a 
cook  was  found  in  a  friend  of  the  starosta's  ;  chickens 
were  bought ;  the  cows  began  to  give  milk  ;  the  garden- 
fence  was  repaired;  the  carpenter  made  a  mangle,  and 
drove  in  hooks,  and  put  latches  on  the  closets,  so  that 
they  would  not  keep  flying  open ;  the  ironing-board,  cov- 
ered with  a  piece  of  soldiers'  cloth,  was  stretched  from 
the  dresser  across  the  back  of  a  chair,  and  the  smell  of 
the  ironing  came  up  from  below. 

"  There  now,"  exclaimed  Matriona  Filimonovna,  point- 
ing to  the  ironing-board,  "there  is  no  need  of  worrying." 

They  even  built  a  board  bath-house.  Lili  began  to 
bathe,  and  Darya  Aleksandrovna's  hope  of  a  comfortable, 
if  not  a  peaceful,  country  life  became  almost  realized. 
Peaceful  life  was  impossible  to  Dar3^a  Aleksandrovna 
with  six  children.     If  one  had  an  ill  turn,  another  was 

VOL.  II.  —  3 


sure  to  follow  suit,  and  something  would  happen  to  a 
third,  and  the  fourth  would  show  signs  of  a  bad  dispo- 
sition, and  so  it  went  on.  Rarely,  rarely  came  even 
short  periods  of  rest.  But  these  very  anxieties  and 
troubles  were  the  only  chances  of  happiness  that  Darya 
Aleksandrovna  had.  If  it  had  not  been  for  this,  she 
would  have  been  alone  with  her  thoughts  about  a  hus- 
band who  no  longer  loved  her.  But  however  cruel  were 
the  anxieties  caused  by  the  fear  of  illness,  by  the  ill- 
nesses themselves,  and  by  the  grief  a  mother  feels  at 
the  sight  of  evil  tendencies  in  her  children,  these  same 
children  repaid  her  for  her  sorrows  by  their  pleasures 
and  enjoyments.  Her  joys  were  so  small  that  they 
were  almost  invisible,  like  gold  in  sand  ;  and  in  trying 
hours  she  saw  only  the  sorrows,  only  the  sand ;  but 
there  were  also  happy  moments,  when  she  saw  only  the 
joys,  only  the  gold. 

Now,  in  the  quiet  of  the  country,  she  became  more 
and  more  conscious  of  her  joys.  Often,  as  she  looked 
on  them,  she  made  unheard-of  efforts  to  persuade  her- 
self that  she  was  mistaken,  that  she  had  a  mother's 
partiality;  but  she  could  not  help  saying  to  herself  that 
she  had  beautiful  children,  all  six,  all  of  them  charming 
in  their  own  ways,  —  such  children  as  are  rare  to  find. 
And  she  rejoiced  in  them,  and  was  proud  of  them. 


Toward  the  beginning  of  June,  when  everything 
was  more  or  less  satisfactorily  arranged,  she  received 
her  husband's  reply  to  her  complaints  about  her  do- 
mestic tribulations.  He  wrote,  asking  pardon  because 
he  had  not  remembered  everything,  and  promised  to 
come  just  as  soon  as  he  could.  This  had  not  yet 
come  to  pass ;  and  at  the  end  of  June  Darya  Alek- 
sandrovna was  still  living  alone  in  the  country. 

It  was  midsummer,  Sunday, -the  feast  of  St.  Peter,  and 
Darya  Aleksandrovna  took  all  her  children  to  the  holy 
communion.     In  her  intimate  philosophical  discussions 


with  her  sister,  her  mother,  or  her  friends,  she  often  sur- 
prised them  by  the  breadth  of  her  views  on  reHgious 
subjects.  A  strange  religious  metempsychosis  had 
taken  place  in  her,  and  she  had  come  out  into  a  faith 
which  had  very  little  in  common  with  ecclesiastical 
dogmas.  But  in  her  family,  —  not  merely  for  the  sake 
of  example,  but  in  answer  to  the  requirements  of  her 
own  soul,  —  she  conformed  strictly  to  all  the  obligations 
of  the  church,  and  now  she  was  blaming  herself  because 
her  children  had  not  been  to  communion  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  year ;  and,  with  the  full  approbation  and 
sympathy  of  Matriona  Filimonovna,  she  resolved  to  ac- 
complish this  duty. 

For  several  days  beforehand  she  had  been  occupied 
in  arranging  what  the  children  should  wear :  and  now 
their  dresses  were  arranged,  all  clean  and  in  order ; 
flutings  and  flounces  were  added,  new  buttons  were  put 
on,  and  ribbons  were  gathered  in  knots.  Only  Tania's 
frock,  which  had  been  intrusted  to  the  English  gover- 
ness to  alter,  caused  Dolly  great  vexation.  The  English 
governess,  in  making  the  changes,  put  the  seams  in  the 
wrong  place,  cut  the  sleeves  too  short,  and  spoiled  the 
whole  garment.  It  fitted  so  badly  about  the  shoulders 
that  it  was  painful  to  look  at  her.  But  it  occurred  to 
Matriona  Filimonovna  to  piece  out  the  waist  and  to 
make  a  cape.  The  damage  was  repaired,  but  they 
almost  had  a  quarrel  with  the  English  governess. 

By  morning  all  was  in  readiness ;  a'nd  about  ten 
o'clock  —  the  hour  they  had  asked  the  father  to  give 
them  for  the  communion  —  the  children,  in  their  best 
clothes  and  radiant  with  joy,  were  gathered  on  the  steps 
before  the  calash  waiting  for  their  mother. 

Thanks  to  Matriona  Filimonovna's  watchful  care,  the 
overseer's  BuroY  had  been  harnessed  to  the  calash  in 
place  of  the  restive  Voron,  and  Darya  Aleksandrovna, 
who  had  taken  considerable  pains  with  her  toilet,  ap- 
peared in  a  white  muslin  gown,  and  took  her  seat  in  the 

Darya  Aleksandrovna  had  arranged  her  hair  and 
dressed  herself  with  care  and  with  emotion.     In  former 


times  she  had  liked  to  dress  well  so  as  to  render  herself 
handsome  and  attractive ;  but  as  she  became  older,  she 
lost  her  taste  for  adornment ;  she  saw  how  her  beauty- 
had  faded.  But  now  she  once  more  found  satisfaction 
and  a  certain  emotion  in  being  attractively  arrayed. 
She  did  not  now  dress  for  her  own  sake,  or  to  enhance 
her  beauty,  but  so  that,  as  mother  of  these  lovely  chil- 
dren, she  might  not  spoil  the  general  impression.  And 
as  she  cast  a  iinal  glance  at  the  mirror,  she  was  satisfied 
with  herself.  She  was  beautiful,  —  not  beautiful  in  the 
same  way  as  at  one  time  she  liked  to  be  at  a  ball,  but 
beautiful  for  the  purpose  which  she  had  now  in  mind. 

There  was  no  one  at  church  except  the  muzhiks 
and  the  household  servants  ;  but  Darya  Aleksandrovna 
noticed,  or  thought  she  noticed,  the  attention  that  she 
and  her  children  attracted  as  they  went  along.  The 
children  were  handsome  in  their  nicely  trimmed  dresses, 
and  still  more  charming  in  their  behavior.  Alosha,  to 
be  sure,  was  not  absolutely  satisfactory ;  he  kept  turn- 
ing round,  and  trying  to  look  at  the  tails  of  his  little 
coat,  but  nevertheless  he  was  wonderfully  pretty. 
Tania  behaved  like  a  grown-up  lady,  and  looked  after 
the  younger  ones.  But  Lili,  the  smallest,  was  fascinat- 
ing in  her  nafve  wonder  at  everything  that  she  saw ; 
and  it  was  hard  not  to  smile  when,  after  she  had  re- 
ceived the  communion,  she  cried  out  in  English, 
^^ Please f  some  more!" 

After  they  got  home,  the  children  felt  the  conscious- 
ness that  something  solemn  had  taken  place,  and  were 
very  quiet. 

All  went  well  in  the  house,  till  at  lunch  Grisha  began 
to  whistle,  and,  what  was  worse  than  all,  refused  to 
obey  the  English  governess ;  and  he  was  sent  away 
without  any  tart.  Darya  Aleksandrovna  would  not 
have  allowed  any  punishment  on  such  a  day  if  she  had 
been  there ;  but  she  was  obliged  to  uphold  the  gover- 
ness, and  confirm  her  in  depriving  Grisha  of  the  tart. 
This  was  a  cloud  on  the  general  happiness. 

Grisha  began  to  cry,  saying  that  Nikolinka  also  had 
whistled  but  they  did  not  punish  him,  and  that  he  was 


not  crying  about  the  tart,  —  that  was  no  account,  —  but 
because  they  had  not  been  fair  to  him.  This  was  very 
disagreeable ;  and  Darya  Aleksandrovna,  after  a  con- 
sultation with  the  English  governess,  decided  to  pardon 
Grisha,  and  went  to  get  him.  But  then,  as  she  went 
through  the  hall,  she  saw  a  scene  which  brought  such 
joy  to  her  heart,  that  the  tears  came  to  her  eyes,  and 
she  herself  forgave  the  culprit. 

The  little  fellow  was  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  by 
the  bay-window ;  near  him  stood  Tania  with  a  plate. 
Under  the  pretext  of  wanting  some  dessert  for  her  dolls, 
she  had  asked  the  English  governess  to  let  her  take  her 
portion  of  the  pie  to  the  nursery ;  but,  instead  of  this, 
she  had  taken  it  to  her  brother.  Grisha,  still  sobbing 
over  the  unfairness  of  his  punishment,  was  eating  the 
pie,  and  saying  to  his  sister  in  the  midst  of  his  tears, 
"  Take  some  too ....  we  will  eat  to  ....  together." 

Tania  was  full  of  sympathy  for  her  brother,  and  had 
the  sentiment  of  having  performed  a  generous  action, 
and  the  tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  but  she  accepted  the 
portion  and  was  eating  it. 

When  they  saw  their  mother,  they  were  scared,  but 
they  felt  assured,  by  the  expression  of  her  face,  that 
they  were  doing  right ;  they  both  laughed,  and,  with 
their  mouths  still  full  of  pie,  they  began  to  wipe  their 
laughing  lips  with  their  hands,  and  their  shining  faces 
were  stained  with  tears  and  jam. 

"Ye  saints!  my  new  white  gown!  Tania!  Grisha!" 
exclaimed  the  mother,  endeavoring  to  save  her  gown, 
but  at  the  same  time  smiling  at  them  with  a  happy, 
beatific  smile. 

Afterwards  the  new  frocks  were  taken  off,  and  the 
girls  put  on  their  old  blouses  and  the  boys  their  old 
jackets;  and  the  line'ika,  or  two-seated  drozhky,  was 
brought  out,  and  again,  to  the  overseer's  annoyance, 
Buroi  was  at  the  pole,  so  that  they  might  go  out  after 
mushrooms,  and  to  have  a  bath.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  enthusiastic  shouts  and  squeals  arose  in  the  nurs- 
ery, and  did  not  cease  until  they  actually  got  started  for 
their  excursion. 


They  soon  filled  a  basket  with  mushrooms ;  even  Lili 
found  some  of  the  birch  agarics.  Always  before  Miss 
Hull  had  found  them  and  pointed  them  out  to  her ;  but 
now  she  herself  found  a  huge  birch  shliupik,  and  there 
was  a  universal  cry  of  enthusiasm  :  — 

"  Lili  has  found  a  mushroom  !  " 

Afterwards  they  came  to  the  river,  left  the  horses 
under  the  birch  trees,  and  went  to  the  bath-house.  The 
coachman,  Terenti,  leaving  the  animals  to  switch  away 
the  flies  with  their  tails,  stretched  himself  out  on  the 
grass  in  the  shade  of  the  birches,  and  smoked  his  pipe, 
and  listened  to  the  shouts  and  laughter  of  the  children 
in  the  bath-house. 

Though  it  was  rather  embarrassing  to  look  after  all 
these  children,  and  to  keep  them  from  mischief ;  though 
it  was  hard  to  remember,  and  not  mix  up  all  these 
stockings,  shoes,  and  trousers  for  so  many  different 
legs,  and  to  untie,  unbutton,  and  then  fasten  again,  so 
many  tapes  and  buttons,  —  still  Darya  Aleksandrovna 
always  took  a  lively  interest  in  the  bathing,  looking  on 
it  as  advantageous  for  the  children,  and  never  feeling 
happier  than  when  engaged  in  this  occupation.  To  fit 
the  stockings  on  those  plump  little  legs ;  to  take  the 
younger  ones  by  the  hand,  and  dip  their  naked  little 
bodies  into  the  water;  to  hear  their  cries,  now  joyful, 
now  terrified ;  to  see  these  breathless  faces  of  those 
splashing  cherubimchiks  of  hers,  with  their  scared  or 
sparkling  eyes  wide  open  with  excitement,  —  all  this 
was  a  perfect  delight  to  her. 

When  half  of  the  children  were  dressed,  some  peas- 
ant women,  in  Sunday  attire,  on  their  way  to  get  herbs, 
came  along,  and  stopped  timidly  at  the  bath-house. 
Matriona  Filimonovna  called  to  one  of  them,  in  order 
to  give  her  a  sheet  and  a  shirt  to  dry  that  had  f^len 
into  the  water ;  and  Darya  Aleksandrovna  talked  with 
the  women.  At  first  they  laughed  behind  their  hands, 
not  understanding  her  questions;  but  little  by  little 
their  courage  returned  and  they  began  to  chatter,  and 
they  quite  won  Darya  Aleksandrovna's  heart  by  their 
sincere  admiration  of  the  children. 


"  hit  tui  !  ain't  she  lovely,  now  ?  White  as  sugar  !  " 
said  one,  pointing  to  Tania,  and  nodding  her  head. 
"But  thin...." 

"  Yes ;  because  she  has  been  ill." 

"  Vish  tui,''  said  still  another,  pointing  to  the  youngest 

"  It  seems  you  don't  take  him  into  the  water,  do 
you .? " 

"  No,"  said  Darya  Aleksandrovna,  proudly.  "  He  is 
only  three  months  old." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  "  ^ 

"And  have  you  any  children.''  " 

"  I  've  had  four ;  two  are  alive,  a  boy  and  a  girl.  I 
weaned  the  youngest  before  Lent." 

"  How  old  is  she  .''  " 

"  Well,  she  is  going  into  her  second  year." 

"  Why  do  you  nurse  her  so  long  t  " 

"  It 's  our  way  :  three  springs."  .... 

And  then  the  woman  asked  Darya  Aleksandrovna 
about  the  birth  of  her  baby  :  did  she  have  a  hard  time  ? 
where  was  her  husband  .<*  would  he  come  often  ? 

Darya  Aleksandrovna  was  reluctant  to  part  with  the 
peasant  women,  §0  delightful  did  she  find  the  conversa- 
tion with  them,  so  perfectly  identical  were  their  interests 
and  hers.  And  it  was  more  pleasant  to  her  than  any- 
thing else  to  see  how  evidently  all  these  women  were 
filled  with  admiration  because  she  had  so  many  and  such 
lovely  children.  The  women  made  Darya  Aleksandrovna 
laugh,  and  offended  Miss  Hull  for  the  very  reason  that 
she  was  the  cause  of  their  unaccountable  laughter.  One 
of  the  young  women  gazed  with  all  her  eyes  at  the  Eng- 
lish governess,  who  was  dressing  last ;  and,  when  she 
put  on  the  third  petticoat,  she  could  not  restrain  her- 
self any  longer,  but  burst  out  laughing  :  — 

"  /s/t  tui  !  she  put  on  one,  and  then  she  put  on  another, 
and  she  has  n't  got  them  all  on  yet !  "  and  they  all  broke 
into  loud  laughter. 



Darya  Aleksandrovna,  with  a  kerchief  on  her  head, 
and  surrounded  by  all  her  flock  of  bathers  with  wet  hair, 
was  just  drawing  near  the  house  when  the  coachman  called 
out,  "Here  comes  somebarin,  —  Pokrovsky,  it  looks  like." 

Darya  Aleksandrovna  looked  out,  and,  to  her  great 
joy,  saw  that  it  was  indeed  Levin's  well-known  form  in 
gray  hat  and  gray  overcoat.  She  was  always  glad  to 
see  him,  but  now  she  was  particularly  delighted,  because 
he  saw'her  in  all  her  glory.  No  one  could  appreciate 
her  splendor  better  than  Levin. 

When  he  caught  sight  of  her,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
saw  one  of  his  visions  of  family  life. 

"You  are  like  a  brooding  hen,  Darya  Aleksandrovna." 

"  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  !  "  said  she,  offering  him  her  hand. 

"  Glad  !  But  you  did  not  let  me  know.  My  brother 
is  staying  with  me ;  I  had  a  little  note  from  Stiva,  tell- 
ing me  you  were  here." 

"  From  Stiva .''  "  repeated  Dolly,  astonished. 

"Yes.  He  wrote  me  that  you  had  come  into  the 
country,  and  thought  that  you  would  ajlow  me  to  be  of 
some  use  to  you,"  said  Levin  ;  and,  even  while  speaking, 
he  became  confused,  and  breaking  off  suddenly,  walked 
in  silence  by  the  lineika,  pulling  off  and  biting  linden 
twigs  as  he  went.  It  had  occurred  to  him  that  Darya 
Aleksandrovna  would  doubtless  find  it  painful  to  have 
a  neighbor  offer  her  the  assistance  which  her  husband 
should  have  given.  In  fact,  Darya  Aleksandrovna  was 
displeased  at  the  way  in  which  Stepan  Arkadyevitch 
had  thrust  his  domestic  difficulties  upon  a  stranger.  She 
immediately  perceived  that  Levin  felt  this,  and  she  felt 
grateful  to  him  for  his  tact  and  delicacy. 

"Of  course,  I  understood,"  said  Levin,  "that  this 
only  meant  that  you  would  be  glad  to  see  me ;  and  I 
was  glad.  Of  course,  I  imagine  that  you,  a  city  house- 
keeper, find  it  uncivilized  here ;  and,  if  I  can  be  of  the 
least  use  to  you,  I  am  wholly  at  your  service." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Dolly.     "  At  first  it  was  rather  hard, 


but  now  everything  has  been  beautifully  arranged.  1 
owe  it  all  to  my  old  nurse,"  she  added,  indicating 
Matriona  Filimonovna,  who,  perceiving  that  they  were 
speaking  of  her,  gave  Levin  a  pleasant,  friendly  smile. 
She  knew  him,  and  knew  that  he  would  make  a  splen- 
did husband  for  the  young  lady,  and  she  wished  that  it 
might  be  so. 

"  Will  you  get  in  ?  We  will  squeeze  up  a  little,"  said 

"  No,  I  will  walk.  —  Children,  which  of  you  will  run 
with  me  to  get  ahead  of  the  horses .'' " 

The  children  were  very  slightly  acquainted  with  Levin, 
and  did  not  remember  where  they  had  seen  him ;  but 
they  had  none  of  that  strange  feeling  of  timidity  and 
aversion  which  children  are  so  often  blamed  for  show- 
ing toward  grown-up  persons  who  are  not  sincere.  Pre- 
tense in  any  person  may  deceive  the  shrewdest  and  most 
experienced  of  men,  but  a  child  of  very  limited  intelli- 
gence detects  it  and  is  repelled  by  it,  though  it  be  most 
carefully  hidden. 

Whatever  faults  Levin  had,  he  could  not  be  accused 
of  lack  of  sincerity ,  and  consequently  the  children 
showed  him  the  same  good-will  that  they  had  seen  on 
their  mother's  face.  The  two  eldest  instantly  accepted 
his  invitation,  and  ran  with  him  as  they  would  have 
gone  with  their  nurse,  or  Miss  Hull,  or  their  mother. 
Lili  also  wanted  to  go  with  him,  and  her  mother  in- 
trusted her  to  him ;  so  he  set  her  on  his  shoulder  and 
began  to  run  with  her. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  don't  be  frightened,  Darya 
Aleksandrovna,"  he  said,  laughing  gayly.  "  I  won't 
hurt  her  or  let  her  fall." 

And  when  she  saw  his  strong,  agile,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  prudent  and  careful  movements,  the  mother  felt 
reassured,  and  smiled  as  she  watched  him,  with  pleasure 
and  approval. 

There  in  the  country,  with  the  children  and  with 
Darya  Aleksandrovna,  whom  he  liked,  Levin  entered 
into  that  boylike,  happy  frame  of  mind  which  was  not 
unusual   with   him,    and   which   Darya   Aleksandrovna 


especially  admired  in  him.  He  played  with  the  children, 
and  taught  them  gymnastic  exercises  ;  he  jested  with 
Miss  Hull  in  his  broken  English;  and  he  told  Darya 
Aleksandrovna  of  his  undertakings  in  the  country. 

After  dinner,  Darya  Aleksandrovna,  sitting  alone  with 
him  on  the  balcony,  began  to  speak  of  Kitty. 

"  Did  you  know  ?  Kitty  is  coming  here  to  spend  the 
summer  with  me  !  " 

"Indeed!"  replied  Levin,  confused;  and  instantly,  in 
order  to  change  the  subject,  he  added  :  — 

"  Then  I  shall  send  you  two  cows,  shall  I  .-*  And  if 
you  insist  on  paying,  and  have  no  scruples,  then  you 
may  give  me  five  rubles  a  month." 

"  No,  thank  you.     We  shall  get  along." 

"  Well,  then  I  am  going  to  look  at  your  cows  ;  and, 
with  your  permission,  I  will  give  directions  about  feed- 
ing them.     Everything  depends  on  that." 

And  Levin,  in  order  to  turn  the  conversation,  ex- 
plained to  Darya  Aleksandrovna  the  whole  theory  of 
the  proper  management  of  cows,  which  was  based  on 
the  idea  that  a  cow  is  only  a  machine  for  the  conversion 
of  fodder  into  milk,  and  so  on. 

He  talked  on  this  subject,  and  yet  he  was  passion- 
ately anxious  to  hear  the  news  about  Kitty,  but  he  was 
also  afraid  to  hear  it.  It  was  terrible  to  him  to  think  that 
his  peace  of  mind,  so  painfully  won,  might  be  destroyed. 

"Yes;  but,  in  order  to  do  all  this,  there  must  be  some 
one  to  superintend  it ;  and  who  is  there  ? "  asked  Darya 
Aleksandrovna,  not  quite  convinced. 

Now  that  she  carried  on  her  domestic  affairs  so  satis- 
factorily, through  Matriona  Filimonovna,  she  had  no 
desire  to  make  any  changes  ;  moreover,  she  had  no 
faith  in  Levin's  knowledge  about  rustic  management. 
His  reasonings  about  a  cow  being  merely  a  machine  to 
produce  milk  were  suspicious.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
such  theories  would  throw  housekeeping  into  discord ;  it 
even  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  all  far  simpler,  that  it 
was  sufficient,  to  do  as  Matriona  Filimonovna  did,  — to 
give  Pestrukha  and  Byelopakha^  more  fodder  and  drink, 

^  Dapple  and  White-foot. 


and  to  prevent  the  cook  from  carrying  dish-water  from 
the  kitchen  to  the  cow,  —  that  was  clear.  But  the 
theories  about  meal  and  grass  for  fodder  were  not  clear, 
but  dubious ;  but  the  principal  point  was,  that  she 
wanted  to  talk  about  Kitty. 


"  Kitty  writes  me  that  she  is  longing  for  solitude 
and  repose,"  began  Dolly,  after  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Is  her  health  better.-*  "  asked  Levin,  with  emotion. 

"  Thank  the  Lord,  she  is  entirely  well !  I  never  be- 
lieved that  she  had  any  lung  trouble." 

"  Oh !  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Levin ;  and  Dolly 
thought  that,  as  he  said  it,  and  then  looked  at  her  in 
silence,  his  face  had  a  pathetic,  helpless  expression. 

"  Tell  me,  Konstantin  Dmitritch,"  said  Darya  Alek- 
sandrovna  with  a  friendly,  and  at  the  same  time  a  rather 
mischievous,  smile,  "why  are  you  angry  with  Kitty?" 

"  I  .-*     I  am  not  angry  with  her,"  said  Levin. 

"  Yes,  you  are.  Why  did  n't  you  come  to  see  any  of 
us  the  last  time  you  were  in  Moscow  ?  " 

"  Darya  Aleksandrovna,"  he  exclaimed,  blushing  to 
the  roots  of  his  hair,  "  I  am  astonished  that,  with  your 
kindness  of  heart,  you  can  think  of  such  a  thing !  How 
can  you  not  pity  me  when  you  know ....  " 

"  What  do  I  know .?  " 

"  You  know  that  I  offered  myself,  and  was  rejected." 
And  as  he  said  this,  all  the  tenderness  that  he  had  felt 
for  Kitty  a  moment  before  changed  in  his  heart  into  a 
sense  of  anger  at  the  memory  of  this  injury. 

"  How  could  you  suppose  that  I  knew  ?  " 

"  Because  everybody  knows  it." 

"  That  is  where  you  are  mistaken.  I  suspected  it, 
but  I  knew  nothing  positive." 

"  Ah,  well,  and  so  you  know  now !  " 

"  All  that  I  know  is  that  there  was  something  which 
keenly  tortured  her,  and  that  she  has  besought  me 
never  to  mention  it.     If  she  has  not  told  me,  then  she 


has  not  told  any  one.  Now,  what  have  you  against 
her  ?     Tell  me  !  " 

"  I  have  told  you  all  that  there  was." 

"  When  was  it  ?  " 

"When  I  was  at  your  house  the  last  time." 

"  But  do  you  know  .'*  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Darya 
Aleksandrovna.  "  I  am  sorry  for  Kitty,  awfully  sorry. 
You  suffer  only  in  your  pride ....  " 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  Levin,  "but...." 

She  interrupted  him. 

"  But  she,  poor  little  girl,  I  am  awfully  sorry  for  her. 
Now  I  understand  all !  " 

"Well,  Darya  Aleksandrovna,  excuse  me,"  said  he, 
rising.  ^'  Prashchaite —  good-by,  Darya  Aleksandrovna, 
da  svidanya  !  " 

"  No  !  wait !  "  she  cried,  holding  him  by  the  sleeve  ; 
"  wait !  sit  down  !  " 

"  I  beg  of  you,  I  beg  of  you,  let  us  not  speak  of  this 
any  more,"  said  Levin,  sitting  down  again,  while  a  ray 
of  that  hope  which  he  believed  forever  vanished  flashed 
into  his  heart. 

"  If  I  did  not  like  you,"  said  Dolly,  and  the  tears 
came  into  her  eyes,  "if  I  did  not  know  you  as  I  do  .... " 

The  hope  which  he  thought  was  dead  awoke  more 
and  more,  filled  Levin's  heart,  and  took  masterful  pos- 
session of  it. 

"Yes,  I  understand  all  now,"  said  Dolly:  "you  can- 
not understand  this,  you  men,  who  are  free  in  your 
choice  ;  it  is  perfectly  clear  whom  you  love  ;  but  a  young 
girl,  with  that  feminine,  maidenly  reserve  which  is  im- 
posed on  her,  and  seeing  you  men  only  at  a  distance,  is 
constrained  to  wait,  and  she  is,  and  must  be,  so  agitated 
that  she  will  not  know  what  answer  to  give." 

"  Yes,  if  her  heart  does  not  speak....  " 

"  No ;  her  heart  speaks,  but  think  for  a  moment : 
you  men  decide  on  some  girl,  you  visit  her  home, 
you  watch,  observe,  and  you  make  up  your  minds 
whether  you  are  in  love  or  not,  and  then,  when  you 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  love  her,  you  offer 
yourselves.... " 


"  Well,  now !  we  don't  always  do  that." 

"  All  the  same,  you  don't  propose  until  your  love 
is  fully  ripe,  or  when  you  have  made  up  your  mind 
between  two  possible  choices.  But  the  young  girl 
cannot  make  a  choice.  They  pretend  that  she  can 
choose,  but  she  cannot ;  she  can  only  answer  *  yes '  or 

"  Well !  the  choice  was  between  me  and  Vronsky," 
thought  Levin ;  and  the  resuscitated  dead  love  in  his 
soul  seemed  to  die  a  second  time,  giving  his  heart  an 
additional  pang. 

"  Darya  Aleksandrovna,"  said  he,  "  thus  one  chooses 
a  gown  or  any  trifling  merchandise,  but  not  love.  Be- 
sides, the  choice  has  been  made,  and  so  much  the 
better  ....  and  it  cannot  be  done  again." 

"Oh!  pride,  pride!  "  said  Dolly,  as  if  she  would  ex- 
press her  scorn  for  the  degradation  of  his  sentiments 
compared  with  those  which  only  women  are  able  to 
comprehend.  "  When  you  offered  yourself  to  Kitty, 
she  was  in  just  that  situation  where  she  could  not  give 
an  answer.  She  was  in  doubt ;  the  choice  was  you  or 
Vronsky.  She  saw  him  every  day ;  you  she  had  not 
seen  for  a  long  time.  If  she  had  been  older,  it  would 
have  been  different ;  if  I,  for  example,  had  been  in  her 
place,  I  should  not  have  hesitated.  He  was  always 
distasteful  to  me,  and  so  that  is  the  end  of  it." 

Levin  remembered  Kitty's  reply  :  "  JVo,  tJiis  cannot 

"  Darya  Aleksandrovna,"  said  he,  dryly,  "  I  am  touched 
by  your  confidence  in  me,  but  I  think  you  are  mistaken. 
But  whether  I  am  right  or  wrong,  this  pride  which  you 
so  despise  makes  it  impossible  for  me  ever  to  think  about 
Katerina  Aleksandrovna ;  you  understand  ?  utterly  im- 

"  I  will  say  only  one  thing  more.  You  must  know 
that  I  am  speaking  to  you  of  my  sister,  whom  I  love 
as  my  own  children.  I  don't  say  that  she  loves  you, 
but  I  only  wish  to  say  that  her  reply  at  that  moment 
amounted  to  nothing  at  all." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Levin,  leaping  suddenly  to  his 


feet.  "  If  you  only  realized  the  pain  that  you  cause  me ! 
It  is  just  the  same  as  if  you  had  lost  a  child,  and  they 
came  to  you  and  said,  '  He  would  have  been  like  this, 
like  this,   and    he   might    have    lived,   and   you   would 

have  had  so  much  joy  in  him But  he  is  dead,  dead, 

dead.'  " .... 

"  How  absurd  you  are  !  "  said  Darya  Aleksandrovna, 
with  a  melancholy  smile  at  the  sight  of  Levin's  emotion. 
"  Well !  I  understand  it  all  better  and  better,"  she  con- 
tinued pensively.  "Then  you  won't  come  to  see  us 
when  Kitty  is  here  .''  " 

"  No,  I  will  not.  Of  course  I  will  not  avoid  Katerina 
Aleksandrovna ;  but,  when  it  is  possible,  I  shall  en- 
deavor to  spare  her  the  affliction  of  my  presence." 

"  You  are  very,  very  absurd,"  said  Darya  Aleksan- 
drovna, looking  at  him  affectionately.  "Well,  then,  let 
it  be  as  if  we  had  not  said  a  word  about  it.  —  What  do 
you  want,  Tania.''  "  said  she  in  French  to  her  little  girl, 
who  came  running  in. 

"Where  is  my  little  shovel,  mamma .-"" 

"  I  speak  French  to  you,  and  you  must  answer  in 

The  child  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not  recall  the 
French  word  for  lopatka,  shovel.  Her  mother  whis- 
pered it  to  her,  and  then  told  her,  still  in  French,  where 
she  should  go  to  find  it.  This  made  Levin  feel  un- 

Everything  now  seemed  changed  in  Darya  Aleksan- 
drovna's  household;  even  the  children  were  not  nearly 
so  attractive  as  before. 

"  And  why  does  she  speak  French  with  the  children  ? " 
he  thought.  "  How  false  and  unnatural !  Even  the 
children  feel  it.  Teach  them  French,  and  spoil  their 
sincerity,"  he  said  to  himself,  not  knowing  that  Darya 
Aleksandrovna  had  twenty  times  asked  the  same  ques- 
tion, and  yet,  in  spite  of  the  harm  that  it  did  their 
simplicity,  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this  was  the 
right  way  to  teach  them. 

"  But  why  are  you  in  a  hurry  }  Sit  a  little  while 


Levin  stayed  to  tea ;  but  all  his  gayety  was  gone,  and 
he  felt  uncomfortable. 

After  tea  he  went  out  into  the  anteroom  to  give 
orders  about  harnessing  the  horses  ;  and  when  he  came 
in  he  found  Darya  Aleksandrovna  in  great  disturbance, 
with  flushed  face,  and  tears  in  her  eyes.  During  his 
short  absence  an  occurrence  had  ruthlessly  destroyed 
all  the  pleasure  and  pride  that  she  took  in  her  children. 
Grisha  and  Tania  had  quarreled  about  a  ball.  Darya 
Aleksandrovna,  hearing  their  cries,  ran  to  them,  and 
found  them  in  a  frightful  state.  Tania  was  pulling  her 
brother's  hair  ;  and  he,  with  face  distorted  with  rage, 
was  pounding  his  sister  with  all  his  might.  When 
Darya  Aleksandrovna  saw  it,  something  seemed  to 
snap  in  her  heart.  A  black  cloud,  as  it  were,  came 
down  on  her  life.  She  saw  that  these  children  of  hers, 
of  whom  she  was  so  proud,  were  not  only  ordinary  and 
ill-trained,  but  were  even  bad,  and  inclined  to  the  most 
evil  and  tempestuous  passions. 

This  thought  troubled  her  so  that  she  could  not  speak 
or  think,  or  even  explain  her  sorrow  to  Levin. 

Levin  saw  that  she  was  unhappy,  and  he  did  his  best 
to  comfort  her,  saying  that  this  was  not  so  very  terrible, 
after  all,  and  that  all  children  quarreled ;  but  in  his 
heart  he  said,  "  No,  I  will  not  bother  myself  to  speak 
French  with  my  children.  I  shall  not  have  such  chil- 
dren. There  is  no  need  of  spoiling  them,  and  making 
them  unnatural ;  and  they  will  be  charming.  No !  my 
children  shall  not  be  like  these." 

He  took  his  leave,  and  rode  away ;  and  she  did  not 
try  to  keep  him  longer. 


Toward  the  end  of  July,  Levin  received  a  visit  from 
the  starosta  of  his  sister's  estate,  situated  about  twenty 
versts  from  Pokrovskoye.  He  brought  the  report  about 
the  progress  of  affairs,  and  about  the  haymaking. 


The  chief  income  from  his  sister's  estate  came  from 
the  meadows  inundated  in  the  spring.  In  former  years 
the  muzhiks  rented  these  hayfields  at  the  rate  of  twenty 
rubles  a  desyatin.^  But  when  Levin  undertook  the 
management  of  this  estate,  and  examined  the  hay- 
crops,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  rent  was  too 
low,  and  he  raised  it  to  the  rate  of  twenty-five  rubles 
a  desyatin.  The  muzhiks  refused  to  pay  this,  and,  as 
Levin  suspected,  drove  away  other  lessees.  Then  Levin 
himself  went  there,  and  arranged  to  have  the  meadows 
mowed  partly  by  day  laborers,  partly  on  shares.  His 
muzhiks  were  greatly  discontented  with  this  new  plan, 
and  did  their  best  to  thwart  it ;  but  it  was  attended  with 
success,  and  even  the  very  first  year  the  yield  from  the 
meadows  was  nearly  doubled.  The  opposition  of  the 
peasantry  continued  through  the  second  and  third  sum- 
mers, and  the  haymaking  was  conducted  on  the  same 

But  this  year  they  had  mowed  the  meadows  on  thirds, 
and  now  the  starosta  had  come  to  announce  that  the 
work  was  done,  and  that  he,  fearing  it  was  going  to 
rain,  had  summoned  the  bookkeeper  and  made  the  divis- 
ion in  his  presence,  and  turned  over  the  eighteen  hay- 
ricks which  were  the  proprietor's  share. 

By  the  unsatisfactory  answer  to  his  question,  how 
much  hay  had  been  secured  from  the  largest  meadow, 
by  the  starosta's  haste  in  making  the  division  without 
orders,  by  the  man's  whole  manner,  Levin  was  induced 
to  think  there  was  something  crooked  in  the  division  of 
the  hay,  and  he  concluded  that  it  would  be  wise  to  go 
and  look  into  it. 

Levin  reached  the  estate  just  at  dinner-time;  and, 
leaving  his  horse  at  the  house  of  his  old  friend,  the 
husband  of  his  brother's  former  nurse,  he  went  to  find 
the  old  man  at  the  apiary,  hoping  to  obtain  from  him 
some  light  on  the  question  of  the  hay-crop. 

The  loquacious,  beautiful-looking  old  man,  whose 
name  was  Parmenuitch,  was  delighted  to  see  Levin, 
showed  him  all  about  his  husbandry,  and  told  him  all 

^  About  six  dollars  an  acre. 


the  particulars  about  his  bees,  and  how  they  swarmed 
this  year;  but  when  Levin  asked  him  about  the  hay,  he 
gave  vague  and  unsatisfactory  answers.  This  still  more 
confirmed  Levin  in  his  suspicions. 

He  went  to  the  meadows,  and,  on  examination  of  the 
hayricks,  found  that  they  could  not  contain  fifty  loads 
each,  as  the  muzhiks  said.  So  in  order  to  give  the  peas- 
ants a  lesson  he  had  one  of  the  carts  which  they  had 
used  as  a  measure  to  be  brought,  and  ordered  all  the 
hay  from  one  of  the  ricks  to  be  carried  into  the  shed. 

The  hayrick  was  found  to  contain  only  thirty-two 
loads.  Notwithstanding  the  starosta's  protestations 
that  the  hay  was  measured  right,  and  that  it  must 
have  got  pressed  down  in  the  cart ;  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  he  called  God  to  witness  that  it  was  all 
done  in  the  most  godly  manner,  —  Levin  insisted  on  it 
that,  as  the  division  had  been  made  without  his  orders, 
he  would  not  accept  the  hayricks  as  equivalent  to  fifty 
loads  each. 

After  long  parleys,  it  was  decided  that  the  muzhiks 
should  take  eleven  of  these  hayricks  for  their  share, 
but  that  the  master's  should  be  measured  over  again. 
The  colloquy  and  the  division  of  the  hayricks  lasted 
until  the  mid-afternoon  luncheon  hour.  When  the  last 
of  the  hay  had  been  divided.  Levin,  confiding  the  care 
of  the  work  to  the  bookkeeper,  sat  down  on  one  of  the 
hayricks  which  was  marked  by  a  laburnum  stake,  and 
enjoyed  the  spectacle  of  the  meadows  alive  with  the 
busy  peasantry. 

Before  him,  at  the  bend  of  the  river  beyond  the  marsh, 
he  saw  the  peasant  women  in  a  variegated  line,  and 
heard  their  ringing  voices  as  they  gossiped  together, 
while  raking  into  long  brown  ramparts  the  hay  scattered 
over  the  bright  green  aftermath.  Behind  the  women 
came  the  men  with  pitchforks  turning  the  windrows 
into  wide,  high-swelling  hayricks. 

Toward  the  left  across  the  meadow,  already  cleared 
of  the  hay,  came  the  creaking  telyegas,  or  peasant  carts, 
and  one  by  one,  as  the  hayricks  were  lifted  on  the  point 
of  monstrous  forks,  disappeared,  and  their  places  were 

VOL.  II. — 4 


taken  by  the  horse-wagons  filled  to  overflowing  with 
the  fragrant  hay  which  almost  hid  the  rumps  of  the 

"  Splendid  hay-weather  !  It  '11  soon  be  all  in,"  said 
Parmenuitch,  as  he  sat  down  near  Levin.  "Tea,  not 
hay !  It  scatters  like  seed  for  the  ducks  when  they 
pitch  it  up."  Then,  pointing  to  a  hayrick  which  the 
men  were  demoHshing,  the  old  man  went  on  :  "  Since 
dinner,  pitched  up  a  good  half  of  it.  —  Is  that  the  last  .'*  " 
he  shouted  to  a  young  fellow  who,  standing  on  the  pole 
of  a  cart,  and  shaking  the  ends  of  his  hempen  reins,  was 
driving  by. 

"  The  last,  batyushka,"  shouted  back  the  young  fellow, 
pulling  in  his  horse.  Then  he  looked  down  with  a  smile 
on  a  happy-looking,  rosy-faced  woman  who  was  sitting 
on  the  hay  in  the  telyega,  and  whipped  up  his  steed 

"  Who  is  that  ?  your  son  ?  "  asked  Levin. 

"  My  youngest,"  said  the  elder,  with  an  expression 
of  pride. 

"  What  a  fine  fellow !  " 

"Not  bad." 

"  Married  yet  ? " 

**  Yes,  three  years  come  next  Filippovok."  * 

"  So  .''     And  are  there  children  ?  " 

"  How  ?  children  .-*  For  a  whole  year  I  have  n't  heard 
anything  about  it !  and  it's  a  shame,"  said  the  old  man, 
"Well,  this  is  hay!  Just  tea!"  he  repeated,  wishing  to 
change  the  subject. 

Levin  looked  with  interest  at  Vanka  Parmenof  and 
his  wife.  They  were  loading  on  a  hayrick  near  by. 
Ivan  Parmenof  was  standing  on  the  wagon,  arranging, 
storing,  and  pressing  down  the  fragrant  hay  which  the 
handsome  goodwife  handed  up  to  him  in  great  loads, 
first  in  armfuls,  then  with  the  fork.  The  young  woman 
worked  gayly,  industriously,  and  skilfully.  P'irst  she 
armnged  it  with  her  fork;  then,  with  elastic  and  agile 
motions,  she  exerted  all  her  strength  upon  it ;  and,  stoop- 
ing over,  she  lifted  up  the  great  armful,  and  standing 

^  St,  Philip's  Day,  November  14, 


straight,  with  full  bosom  under  the  white  chemise 
gathered  with  a  red  girdle,  she  piled  it  high  upon  the 

Ivan,  working  as  rapidly  as  he  could,  so  as  to  relieve 
her  of  every  moment  of  extra  work,  stretched  out  his 
arms  wide,  and  caught  up  the  load  which  she  extended, 
and  trampled  it  down  into  the  wagon.  Then,  raking  up 
what  was  left,  the  woman  shook  off  the  hay  that  had  got 
into  her  neck,  and,  tying  a  red  handkerchief  around  her 
broad  white  brow,  she  crept  under  the  cart  to  fasten 
down  the  load.  Vanka  showed  her  how  the  ropes 
should  be  tied,  and  at  some  remark  that  she  made  burst 
into  a  roar  of  laughter.  In  the  expression  on  the  faces 
of  both  of  them  could  be  seen  strong  young  love  recently 


The  load  was  complete,  and  Ivan,  jumping  down, 
took  his  gentle  fat  horse  by  the  bridle,  and  joined  the 
file  of  telyegas  going  to  the  village.  The  young  woman 
threw  her  rake  on  top  of  the  load,  and,  swinging  her 
arms,  joined  the  other  women,  who  had  collected  in  a 
group  to  sing.  These  women,  with  rakes  on  their 
shoulders  and  dressed  in  bright  colors,  suddenly  burst 
forth  into  song  with  loud  happy  voices  as  they  followed 
the  carts.  One  wild  untrained  voice  would  sing  a  verse 
of  the  Pyesna,  or  folk-song,  and  when  she  had  reached 
the  refrain,  fifty  other  young,  fresh,  and  powerful  voices 
would  take  it  up  simultaneously  and  repeat  it  to  the 

The  peasant  women,  singing  their  folk-song,  came 
toward  Levin ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  a  cloud, 
freighted  with  the  thunder  of  gayety,  was  moving  down 
upon  him.  The  thunder-cloud  drew  nearer,  it  took 
possession  of  him,  —  and  the  haycock  on  which  he 
was  reclining  and  the  other  haycocks  and  the  carts 
and  the  whole  meadow  and  the  far-off  field  moved 
and  swayed  to  the  rhythm  of  this  wild  song,  with  its 
accompaniment  of  whistles  and  shrill  cries  and  clapping 


of  hands.  This  wholesome  gayety  filled  him  with  envy; 
he  would  have  liked  to  take  part  in  this  expression  of 
joyous  life;  but  nothing  of  the  sort  could  he  do,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  lie  still  and  look  and  listen.  When  the 
throng  with  their  song  had  passed  out  of  sight  and 
hearing,  an  oppressive  feeling  of  melancholy  came  over 
him  at  the  thought  of  his  loneliness,  of  his  physical 
indolence,  of  the  hostility  which  existed  between  him 
and  this  alien  world. 

Some  of  these  very  muzhiks,  even  those  who  had 
quarreled  with  him  about  the  hay,  or  those  whom  he 
had  injured,  or  those  who  had  intended  to  cheat  him, 
saluted  him  gayly  as  they  passed,  and  evidently  did  not 
and  could  not  bear  him  any  malice,  or  feel  any  remorse, 
or  even  remembrance  that  they  had  tried  to  defraud 
him.  All  was  swallowed  up  and  forgotten  in  this  sea 
of  joyous,  universal  labor.  God  gave  the  day,  God  gave 
the  strength ;  and  the  day  and  the  strength  consecrated 
the  labor,  and  yielded  their  own  reward.  For  whom 
was  the  work.-'  What  would  be  the  fruits  of  the  work  ? 
These  were  secondary,  unimportant  considerations. 

Levin  had  often  looked  with  interest  at  this  life,  had 
often  experienced  a  feeling  of  envy  of  the  people  that 
lived  this  life;  but  to-day,  for  the  first  time,  especially 
under  the  impression  of  what  he  had  seen  in  the  bear- 
ing of  Ivan  Parmenof  toward  his  young  wife,  he  had 
clearly  realized  that  it  depended  on  himself  whether  he 
would  exchange  the  burdensome,  idle,  artificial,  selfish 
existence  which  he  led,  for  the  laborious,  simple,  pure, 
and  delightful  life  of  the  peasantry. 

The  elder  who  had  been  sitting  with  him  had  already 
gone  home;  the  people  were  scattered;  the  neighbor- 
ing villagers  had  already  .  reached  their  houses,  but 
those  who  lived  at  a  distance  were  preparing  to  spend 
the  night  in  the  meadow,  and  were  getting  ready  for 

Levin,  without  being  noticed  by  the  people,  still  re- 
clined on  the  haycock,  looking,  listening,  and  thinking. 
The  peasantry  gathered  in  the  meadow  scarcely  slept 
throughout  the  short  summer  night.     At  first  gay  gos- 


sip  and  laughter  were  heard  while  they  were  eating; 
then  followed  songs  and  jests  again. 

No  trace  of  all  the  long,  laborious  day  was  left  upon 
them,  except  of  its  happiness.  Just  before  the  dawn 
there  was  silence  everywhere.  Nothing  could  be  heard 
but  the  nocturnal  sounds  of  the  frogs  ceaselessly  croak- 
ing in  the  marsh,  and  the  horses  whinnying  as  they 
waited  in  the  mist  that  rose  before  the  dawn.  Coming 
to  himself.  Levin  got  up  from  the  haycock,  and,  looking 
at  the  stars,  saw  that  the  night  had  gone. 

"Well!  what  am  I  going  to  do  ?  How  am  I  going  to 
do  this  ?  "  he  asked  himself,  trying  to  give  a  shape  to 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  that  had  occupied  him  during 
this  short  night.  All  that  he  had  thought  and  felt  had 
taken  three  separate  directions.  First,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  must  renounce  his  former  mode  of  life,  which 
was  useful  neither  to  himself  nor  to  any  one  else.  This 
renunciation  seemed  to  him  very  attractive  and  was  easy 
and  simple. 

The  second  direction  that  his  thoughts  and  feelings 
took  referred  especially  to  the  new  life  which  he  longed 
to  lead.  He  clearly  realized  the  simplicity,  purity,  and 
regularity  of  this  new  life,  and  he  was  convinced  that 
he  should  find  in  it  that  satisfaction,  that  calmness  and 
mental  freedom,  which  he  now  felt  the  lack  of  so  pain- 
fully. The  third  line  of  thought  brought  him  to  the 
question  how  he  should  effect  the  transition  from  the 
old  life  to  the  new,  and  in  this  regard  nothing  clear 
presented  itself  to  his  mind. 

"  I  must  have  a  wife.  I  must  engage  in  work,  and 
have  the  absolute  necessity  of  work.  Shall  I  abandon  Po- 
krovskoye  ?  buy  land  .■'  join  the  commune  ?  marry  a  peas- 
ant woman  .-*  How  can  I  do  all  this  .''  "  he  again  asked 
himself,  and  no  answer  came.  "  However,"  he  went 
on,  in  his  self-communings,  "  I  have  not  slept  all  night, 
and  my  ideas  are  not  very  clear.  I  shall  reduce  them 
to  order  by  and  by.  One  thing  is  certain;  this  night 
has  settled  my  fate.  All  my  former  dreams  of  family 
existence  were  rubbish,  but  this  —  all  this  is  vastl)/ 
simpler  and  better."  .... 


"  How  lovely  !  "  he  thought,  as  he  gazed  at  the  delicate 
white  curly  clouds,  colored  like  mother-of-pearl,  which 
floated  in  the  sky  above  him.  "  How  charming  every, 
thing  has  been  this  lovely  night !  And  when  did  that 
shell  have  time  to  form.-*  I  have  been  looking  this  long 
time  at  the  sky,  and  nothing  was  to  be  seen  —  only  two 
white  streaks.  Yes !  thus,  without  my  knowing  it,  my 
views  about  life  have  been  changed." 

He  left  the  meadow,  and  walked  along  the  highway 
that  led  to  the  village.  A  cool  breeze  began  to  blow, 
and  it  became  gray  and  melancholy.  The  somber  mo- 
ment was  at  hand  which  generally  precedes  the  dawn, 
the  perfect  triumph  of  light  over  the  darkness. 

Shivering  with  the  chill,  Levin  walked  fast,  looking 
at  the  ground. 

"  What  is  that  .-*  Who  is  coming  .-•  "  he  asked  himself, 
hearing  the  sound  of  bells.  He  raised  his  head.  About 
forty  paces  from  him  he  saw,  coming  toward  him  on 
the  highway,  on  the  grassy  edge  where  he  himself  was 
walking,  a  traveling  carriage,  drawn  by  four  horses. 
The  pole-horses,  to  avoid  the  ruts,  pressed  close  against 
the  pole ;  but  the  skilful  postilion,  seated  on  one  side  of 
the  box,  kept  the  pole  directly  over  the  rut,  so  that  the 
wheels  kept  only  on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  road. 

Levin  was  so  interested  in  this  that,  without  thinking 
who  might  be  coming,  he  only  glanced  heedlessly  at  the 

In  one  corner  of  the  carriage  an  elderly  lady  was 
asleep ;  and  by  the  window  sat  a  young  girl,  evidently 
only  just  awake,  holding  with  both  hands  the  ribbons 
of  her  white  bonnet.  Serene  and  thoughtful,  filled  with 
a  lofty,  complex  life  which  Levin  could  not  understand, 
she  was  gazing  beyond  him  at  the  glow  of  the  morning 

At  the  very  instant  that  this  vision  flashed  by  him  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  frank  eyes.  She  recognized 
him,  and  a  gleam  of  joy,  mingled  with  wonder,  lighted 
up  her  face. 

He  could  not  be  mistaken.  Only  she  in  all  the  world 
had  such  eyes.     In  all  the  world  there  was  but  one 


being  who  could  concentrate  for  him  all  the  light  and 
meaning  of  life.  It  was  she  ;  it  was  Kitty.  He  judged 
that  she  was  on  her  way  from  the  railway  station  to 

And  all  the  thoughts  that  had  occupied  Levin  through 
his  sleepless  night,  all  the  resolutions  that  he  had  made, 
vanished  in  a  twinkling.  Horror  seized  him  as  he  re- 
membered his  dream  of  marrying  a  krestyanka  —  a 
peasant  wife !  In  that  carriage  which  flashed  by  him 
on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  disappeared,  was  the 
only  possible  answer  to  his  life's  enigma  which  had 
tormented  and  puzzled  him  so  long. 

She  was  now  out  of  sight ;  the  rumble  of  the  wheels 
had  ceased,  and  scarcely  could  he  hear  the  bells.  The 
barking  of  the  dogs  told  him  that  the  carriage  was 
passing  through  the  village.  And  now  there  remained 
only  the  empty  fields,  the  distant  village,  and  himself, 
an  alien  and  a  stranger  to  everything,  walking  solitary 
on  the  deserted  highway. 

He  looked  at  the  sky,  hoping  to  find  there  still  the 
sea-shell  cloud  which  he  had  admired,  and  which  per- 
sonified for  him  the  movement  of  his  thoughts  and 
feelings  during  the  night.  But  in  the  sky  there  was 
nothing  that  resembled  the  shell.  There,  at  immeasur- 
able heights,  that  mysterious  change  had  already  taken 
place.  There  was  no  trace  of  the  shell,  but  in  its  place 
there  extended  over  a  good  half  of  the  heavens  a  carpet 
of  cirrus  clouds  sweeping  on  and  sweeping  on.  The 
sky  was  growing  blue  and  luminous,  and  with  the  same 
tenderness  and  also  with  the  same  unsatisfactoriness  it 
answered  his  questioning  look. 

"  No,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  however  good  this  simple 
and  laborious  life  may  be,  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  it 
I  love  her.'' 



No  one  except  AlekseY  Aleksandrovitch's  most  in- 
timate friends  suspected  that  this  apparently  cold  and 
sober-minded  man  had  one  weakness  absolutely  con- 
tradictory to  the  general  consistency  of  his  character. 
He  could  not  look  with  indifference  at  a  child  or  a 
woman  who  was  weeping.  The  sight  of  tears  caused 
him  to  lose  his  self-control,  and  destroyed  for  him  his 
reasoning  faculties.  The  manager  of  his  chancelry  and 
his  secretary  understood  this,  and  warned  women  who 
came  to  present  petitions  not  to  allow  their  feelings 
to  overcome  them  unless  they  wanted  to  injure  their 

"He  will  fly  into  a  passion,  and  will  not  listen  to 
you,"  they  said.  And  it  was  a  fact  that  the  trouble 
which  the  sight  of  weeping  caused  Aleksel  Aleksandro- 
vitch  was  expressed  by  hasty  irritation.  "  I  cannot,  I 
cannot  do  anything  for  you.  Please  leave  me,"  he 
would  exclaim,  as  a  general  thing,  in  such  cases. 

When,  on  their  way  back  from  the  races,  Anna  con- 
fessed her  relations  with  Vronsky,  and,  immediately 
afterwards  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  burst  into 
tears,  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch,  in  spite  of  his  anger 
against  his  wife,  was  conscious  at  the  same  time  of  that 
deep,  soul-felt  emotion  welling  up  which  the  sight  of 
tears  always  caused  him.  Knowing  this,  and  knowing 
that  any  expression  of  it  would  be  incompatible  with 
the  situation,  he  endeavored  to  restrain  any  sign  of 
agitation,  and  therefore  he  neither  moved  nor  looked 
at  her;  hence  arose  that  strange  appearance  of  death- 
like rigidity  in  his  face  which  so  impressed  Anna. 

When  they  reached  home,  he  helped  her  from  the  car- 
riage ;  and,  having  made  a  great  effort,  he  left  her  with 
ordinary  politeness,  saying  only  those  words  which  would 
not  oblige  him  to  follow  any  course.  He  simply  said 
that  on  the  morrow  he  would  let  her  know  his  decision. 

His  wife's  words,  confirming  his  worst  suspicions, 
caused   a  keen   pain   in  his  heart ;  and  this  pain  was 


made  still  keener  by  the  strange  sensation  of  physical 
pity  for  her,  caused  by  the  sight  of  her  tears.  Yet,  as 
he  sat  alone  in  his  carriage,  Aleksei'  Aleksandrovitch,  to 
his  surprise  and  pleasure,  was  conscious  of  an  absolute 
freedom,  not  only  from  that  sense  of  pity,  but  also  from 
the  doubts  and  the  pangs  of  jealousy  which  had  of  late 
been  tormenting  him. 

He  experienced  the  feelings  of  a  man  who  has  been 
suffering  for  a  long  time  from  the  toothache.  After 
one  terrible  moment  of  agony,  and  the  sensation  of 
something  enormous  —  greater  than  the  head  itself  — 
which  is  wrenched  out  of  the  jaw,  the  patient,  hardly 
able  to  believe  in  his  good  fortune,  suddenly  discovers 
that  the  pain  that  has  been  poisoning  his  life  so  long 
has  ceased,  and  that  he  can  live  and  think  and  interest 
himself  in  something  besides  his  aching  tooth. 

This  feeling  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  now  experi- 
enced. The  pain  had  been  strange  and  terrible.  But 
now  it  was  over.  He  felt  that  he  could  live  again,  and 
think  of  something  besides  his  wife. 

"Without  honor,  without  heart,  without  religion,  an 
abandoned  woman !  I  have  always  known  this  and  I 
have  always  seen  it,  though  out  of  pity  for  her  I  tried 
to  shut  my  eyes  to  it,"  he  said  to  himself. 

And  it  really  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  always  seen 
this.  He  recalled  many  details  of  their  past  lives ;  and 
things  which  had  once  seemed  innocent  in  his  eyes,  now 
clearly  came  up  as  proofs  that  she  had  always  been 

"  I  made  a  mistake  when  I  joined  my  life  to  hers  ;  but 
my  mistake  was  not  my  fault,  and  therefore  I  ought  not 
to  be  unhappy.  I  am  not  the  guilty  one,"  said  he, 
"  but  she  is.  But  I  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  her. 
She  does  not  exist  for  me.".... 

All  that  would  befall  her  as  well  as  his  son,  toward 
whom  also  his  feelings  underwent  a  similar  change,  now 
ceased  to  occupy  him.  The  only  thing  that  did  occupy 
him  now  was  the  question  how  to  make  his  escape  from 
this  wretched  crisis  in  a  manner  at  once  wise,  correct, 
and  honorable  for  himself,  and  having  cleared  himself 


from  the  mud  with  which  she  had  spattered  him  by  her 
fall,  how  he  would  henceforth  pursue  his  own  path  of 
honorable,  active,  and  useful  life. 

"  Must  I  make  myself  wretched  because  a  wretched 
woman  has  committed  a  crime  ?  All  I  want  is  to  find 
the  best  way  out  from  this  situation  to  which  she  has 
brought  me.  And  I  will  find  it,"  he  added,  getting 
more  and  more  indignant.  "  I  am  not  the  first,  nor  the 

And  not  speaking  of  the  historical  examples,  begin- 
ning with  La  Belle  Helene  of  Menelaus,  which  had 
recently  been  brought  to  all  their  memories  by  Offen- 
bach's opera,  Alekseif  Aleksandrovitch  went  over  in  his 
mind  a  whole  series  of  contemporary  episodes,  where 
husbands  of  the  highest  position  had  been  obliged  to 
mourn  the  faithlessness  of  their  wives. 

"  Daryalof,  Poltavsky,  Prince  Karibanof,  Count  Pa- 
skudin,  Dramm, ....  yes,  even  Dramm,  honorable,  indus- 
trious man  as  he  is,  ....  Semenof,  Chagin,  Sigonin. 
Admit  that  they  cast  unjust  ridicule  on  these  men ;  as 
for  me,  I  never  saw  anything  except  their  misfortune, 
and  I  always  pitied  them,"  said  Alekseif  Aleksandro- 
vitch to  himself,  although  this  was  not  so,  and  he  had 
never  sympathized  with  misfortune  of  this  sort,  and  had 
only  plumed  himself  the  more  as  he  had  heard  of  wives 
deceiving  their  husbands. 

"  This  is  a  misfortune  which  is  likely  to  strike  any 
one,  and  now  it  has  struck  me.  The  only  thing  is  to 
know  how  to  find  the  best  way  of  settling  the  difficulty." 

And  he  began  to  recall  the  different  ways  in  which 
these  men,  finding  themselves  in  such  a  position  as  he 
was,  had  behaved. 

"  Daryalof  fought  a  duel ....  " 

Dueling  had  often  been  a  subject  of  consideration 
to  Alekset  Aleksandrovitch  when  he  was  a  young  man, 
and  for  the  reason  that  physically  he  was  a  timid  man 
and  he  knew  it.  He  could  not  think  without  a  shudder 
of  having  a  pistol  leveled  at  him,  and  never  in  his  life 
had  he  practised  with  firearms.  This  instinctive  horror 
had  in  early  life  caused  him  often  to  think  about  duel* 


ing  and  to  imagine  himself  obliged  to  expose  his  life  to 
this  danger. 

Afterward,  when  he  had  attained  success  and  a  high 
social  position,  he  had  got  out  of  the  way  of  such 
thoughts;  but  his  habit  of  mind  now  reasserted  itself, 
and  his  timidity,  owing  to  his  cowardice,  was  so  great 
that  Alekseif  Aleksandrovitch  long  deliberated  about 
the  matter,  turning  it  over  on  all  sides,  and  questioning 
the  expediency  of  a  duel,  although  he  knew  perfectly 
well  that  in  any  case  he  would  never  fight. 

"  Undoubtedly  the  state  of  our  society  is  still  so  sav- 
age," he  said,  —  "though  it  is  not  so  in  England, — 
that  very  many ....  " 

And  in  these  many,  to  whom  such  a  solution  was  sat- 
isfactory, there  were  some  for  whose  opinions  Alekseif 
Aleksandrovitch  had  the  very  highest  regard.  "  Look- 
ing at  the  duel  from  its  good  side,  to  what  result  does  it 
lead  .''     Let  us  suppose  that  I  send  a  challenge !  " 

And  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  went  on  to  draw  a 
vivid  picture  of  the  night  that  he  would  spend  after  the 
challenge ;  and  he  imagined  the  pistol  aimed  at  him, 
and  shuddered,  and  realized  that  he  could  never  do 
such  a  thing, 

"  Let  us  suppose  that  I  challenge  him  to  a  duel ;  let  us 
suppose  that  I  learn  how  to  shoot,"  he  forced  himself 
to  think,  "  that  I  am  standing,  that  I  pull  the  trigger," 
he  said  to  himself,  shutting  his  eyes,  "  and  it  happens 
that  I  kill  him  ; "  and  he  shook  his  head,  to  drive  away 
these  absurd  notions. 

"  What  sense  would  there  be  in  causing  a  man's  death, 
in  order  to  settle  my  relations  to  a  sinful  woman  and  her 
son }  Even  then  I  should  have  to  decide  what  I  ought 
to  do  with  her.  But  suppose  —  and  this  is  vastly  more 
likely  to  happen  —  that  I  am  the  one  killed  or  wounded. 
I,  an  innocent  man,  the  victim,  killed  or  wounded .?  Still 
more  absurd !  But,  moreover,  would  not  the  challenge 
to  a  duel  on  my  part  be  a  dishonorable  action,  certain  as 
I  am  beforehand  that  my  friends  would  never  allow  me 
to  fight  a  duel .-'  would  never  permit  the  life  of  a  gov- 
ernment official,  who  is  so  indispensable  to  Russia,  to 


be  exposed  to  danger  ?  What  would  happen  ?  This 
would  happen,  that  I,  knowing  in  advance  that  the 
matter  would  never  result  in  any  danger,  should  seem 
to  people  to  be  anxious  to  win  notoriety  by  a  challenge. 
It  would  be  dishonorable,  it  would  be  false,  it  would  be 
an  act  of  deception  to  others  and  to  myself.  A  duel  is 
not  to  be  thought  of,  and  no  one  expects  it  of  me.  My 
sole  aim  should  be  to  preserve  my  reputation,  and  not 
to  suffer  any  unnecessary  interruption  of  my  activity." 

The  service  of  the  State,  always  important  in  the  eyes 
of  Alekseit  Aleksandrovitch,  now  appeared  to  him  of 
extraordinary  importance. 

Having  decided  against  the  duel,  Aleksei  Aleksandro- 
vitch began  to  discuss  the  question  of  divorce  —  a  second 
expedient  which  had  been  employed  by  several  of  the 
men  whom  he  had  in  mind.  Calling  to  mind  all  the 
well-known  examples  of  divorce  —  and  there  had  been 
many  in  the  very  highest  circles  of  society,  as  he  well 
knew  —  he  could  not  name  a  single  case  where  the  aim 
of  the  divorce  had  been  such  as  he  proposed.  The 
husband  in  each  case  had  sold  or  given  up  the  faithless 
wife  ;  and  the  guilty  party,  who  had  no  right  to  a  second 
marriage,  had  entered  into  relations,  imagined  to  be 
sanctioned,  with  a  new  husband. 

Aleksei'  Aleksandrovitch  saw  that,  in  his  case  at  least, 
legal  divorce,  whereby  the  faithless  wife  would  be  re- 
pudiated, was  impossible.  He  saw  that  the  complicated 
conditions  of  his  life  precluded  the  possibility  of  those 
coarse  proofs  which  the  law  demanded  for  the  establish- 
ment of  a  wife's  guilt;  he  saw  that  the  distinguished 
refinement  of  his  life  precluded  the  public  use  of  such 
proofs,  even  if  they  existed,  and  that  the  public  use  of 
these  proofs  would  cause  him  to  fall  lower  in  public 
opinion  than  the  guilty  wife. 

Divorce  could  only  end  in  a  scandalous  lawsuit,  which 
would  be  a  godsend  to  his  enemies  and  to  lovers  of 
gossip,  and  would  degrade  him  from  his  high  position 
in  society.  His  principal  object,  the  determination  of 
his  position  with  the  least  possible  confusion,  would  not 
be  attained  by  a  divorce. 


Divorce,  moreover,  broke  off  all  intercourse  between 
wife  and  husband,  and  united  her  to  her  paramour. 
Now  in  AlckseY  Aleksandrovitch's  heart,  in  spite  of  the 
scornful  indifference  which  he  affected  to  feel  toward 
his  wife,  there  still  remained  one  very  keen  sentiment, 
and  that  was  his  unwillingness  for  her,  unhindered,  to 
unite  her  lot  with  Vronsky,  so  that  her  fault  would  turn 
out  to  her  advantage. 

This  possible  contingency  was  so  painful  to  Aleksel 
Aleksandrovitch  that,  merely  at  the  thought  of  it,  he 
bellowed  with  mental  pain  ;  and  he  got  up  from  his 
seat,  changed  his  place  in  the  carriage,  and  for  a  long 
time,  darkly  scowling,  wrapped  his  woolly  plaid  around 
his  thin  and  chilly  legs. 

"  Besides  formal  divorce,"  he  said  to  himself,  as, 
growing  a  little  calmer,  he  continued  his  deliberations, 
"  it  would  be  possible  to  act  as  Karibanof,  Paskudin, 
and  that  gentle  Dramm  have  done  ;  that  is  to  say,  I 
could  separate  from  my  wife."  But  this  measure  had 
almost  the  same  disadvantages  as  the  other :  it  was 
practically  to  throw  his  wife  into  Vronsky's  arms. 

"No;  it  is  impossible  —  impossible,"  he  said  aloud, 
again  trying  to  wrap  himself  up  in  his  plaid.  "  I  cannot 
be  unhappy,  but  neither  she  nor  he  ought  to  be  happy." 

The  feeling  of  jealousy  which  had  tormented  him 
while  he  was  still  ignorant  had  passed  away  when  by 
his  wife's  words  the  aching  tooth  had  been  pulled  ;  but 
this  feeling  was  replaced  by  a  different  one,  — the  desire 
not  only  that  she  should  not  triumph,  but  that  she  should 
receive  the  reward  for  her  sin.  He  did  not  express  it, 
but  in  the  depths  of  his  soul  he  desired  that  she  should 
be  punished  for  the  way  in  which  she  had  destroyed  his 
peace  and  honor. 

After  once  more  passing  in  review  the  conditions  of 
the  duel,  the  divorce,  and  the  separation,  and  once  more 
rejecting  them,  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  there  was  only  one  way  to  escape  from 
his  trouble,  and  that  was  to  keep  his  wife  under  his  pro- 
tection, shielding  his  misfortune  from  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  employing  all  possible  means  to  break  off   the 


illicit  relationship,  and,  above  all  —  though  he  did  not 
avow  it  to  himself  —  punishing  his  wife's  fault. 

"  I  must  let  her  know  that,  in  the  cruel  situation  into 
which  she  has  brought  our  family,  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  status  quo  is  the  only  way  that  seems 
advisable  for  both  sides,  and  that  I  will  agree  to  pre- 
serve it  under  the  strenuous  condition  that  she  on  her 
part  fulfil  my  will,  and  break  off  all  relations  with  her 

For  the  bolstering  of  this  resolution  when  once  he 
had  finally  adopted  it,  Alekself  Aleksandrovitch  brought 
up  one  convincing  argument :  "  Only  by  acting  in  this 
manner  do  I  conform  absolutely  with  the  law  of  reli- 
gion," said  he  to  himself ;  "  only  by  this  reasoning  do 
I  refuse  to  send  away  the  adulterous  woman  ;  and  I 
give  her  the  chance  of  amending  her  ways,  and  likewise, 

—  painful  as  it  will  be  to  me,  —  I  consecrate  a  part  of 
my  powers  to  her  regeneration  and  salvation." 

Though  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  knew  that  he  could 
have  no  moral  influence  over  his  wife,  and  that  the 
attempts  which  he  should  make  to  reform  his  wife  would 
have  no  other  outcome  than  falsehood  ;  although  during 
the  trying  moments  that  he  had  been  living,  he  had  not 
for  an  instant  thought  of  finding  his  guidance  in  religion, 

—  yet  now,  when  he  felt  that  his  determination  was  in 
accordance  with  religion,  this  religious  sanction  of  his 
resolution  gave  him  full  comfort  and  a  certain  share  of 
satisfaction.  He  was  consoled  with  the  thought  that  in 
such  a  trying  period  of  his  life  no  one  would  have  the 
right  to  say  that  he  had  not  acted  in  conformity  to  the 
religion  whose  banner  he  bore  aloft  in  the  midst  of  cool- 
ness and  indifference. 

As  he  went  over  in  his  mind  the  remotest  contingen- 
cies, Alekseif  Aleksandrovitch  even  saw  no  reason  why 
his  relations  with  his  wife  should  not  remain  pretty 
much  as  they  had  always  been.  Of  course,  it  would  be 
impossible  for  him  to  feel  great  confidence  in  her ;  but 
he  saw  no  reason  why  he  should  ruin  his  whole  life,  and 
suffer  personally,  because  she  was  a  bad  and  faithless 


"Yes,  time  will  pass,"  he  said  to  himself,  "time  which 
solves  all  problems ;  and  our  relations  will  be  brought 
into  the  old  order,  so  that  I  shall  not  feel  the  disorder 
that  has  broken  up  the  current  of  my  life.  She  must 
be  unhappy,  but  I  am  not  to  blame,  and  so  I  do  not  see 
why  I  must  be  unhappy  too." 


Alekse'i  Aleksandrovitch  during  his  drive  back  to 
Petersburg  not  only  fully  decided  on  the  line  of  conduct 
which  he  should  adopt,  but  even  composed  in  his  head 
a  letter  to  be  sent  to  his  wife.  When  he  reached  his 
Switzer's  room,  he  glanced  at  the  official  papers  and 
letters  which  had  been  brought  from  the  ministry,  and 
ordered  them  to  be  brought  into  the  library. 

"  Shut  the  door,  and  let  no  one  in,"  said  he  in  reply  to 
a  question  of  the  Swiss,  emphasizing  the  last  words  — 
nye  prinimaf — let  no  one  in  —  with  some  satisfaction, 
which  was  an  evident  sign  that  he  was  in  a  better  state 
of  mind. 

Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  walked  up  and  down  the 
library  once  or  twice,  and  then,  coming  to  his  huge 
writing-table,  on  which  his  lackey,  before  going  out, 
had  placed  six  lighted  candles,  he  cracked  his  fingers 
and  sat  down,  and  began  to  examine  his  writing-mate- 
rials. Then,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  table,  he  bent  his 
head  to  one  side,  and  after  a  moment  of  reflection  he 
began  to  write  without  the  slightest  hesitancy.  He 
wrote  in  French  without  addressing  her  by  name,  em- 
ploying the  pronoun  vous,  which  has  less  coldness  than 
the  corresponding  Russian  word,  vtii,  has.    He  wrote :  — 

At  our  recent  interview,  I  expressed  the  intention  of  com- 
municating to  you  my  resolution  concerning  the  subject  of  our 
conversation.  Having  carefully  taken  everything  into  considera- 
tion, I  am  writing  now  with  the  view  of  fulfilling  my  promise. 
This  is  my  decision  :  whatever  your  conduct  may  have  been, 
I  do  not  acknowledge  that  I  have  the  right  to  break  the  bonds 
which  a  Power  Supreme  has  consecrated.     The  family  cannot 


be  broken  up  through  a  caprice,  an  arbitrary  act,  even  through 
the  crime  of  one  of  the  parties  ;  and  our  Hves  must  remain 
unchanged.  This  must  be  so  for  my  sake,  for  your  sake,  for  the 
sake  of  our  son.  I  am  fully  persuaded  that  you  have  been  re- 
pentant, that  you  still  feel  repentant  for  the  deed  that  obliges 
me  to  write  you  ;  that  you  will  cooperate  with  me  in  destroy- 
ing root  and  branch  the  cause  of  our  estrangement  and  in 
forgetting  the  past. 

In  case  this  be  not  so,  you  yourself  must  understand  what 
awaits  you  and  your  son.  In  regard  to  all  this  I  hope  to  have 
a  more  specific  conversation  at  a  personal  interview.  As  the 
summer  season  is  nearly  over,  I  beg  of  you  to  come  back  to 
Petersburg  as  soon  as  possible  —  certainly  not  later  than  Tues- 
day. All  the  necessary  measures  for  your  return  hither  will  be 
taken.  I  beg  you  to  take  notice  that  I  attach  a  very  particu- 
lar importance  to  your  attention  to  my  request. 

A.  Karenin. 

P.S.  I  inclose  in  this  letter  money,  which  you  may  need 
at  this  particular  time. 

He  reread  his  letter,  and  was  satisfied  vi'ith  it  —  espe- 
cially with  the  fact  that  he  had  thought  of  sending  the 
money.  There  was  not  an  angry  word,  not  a  reproach, 
neither  was  there  any  condescension  in  it.  The  essen- 
tial thing  was  the  golden  bridge  for  their  reconciliation. 
He  folded  his  letter,  smoothed  it  with  a  huge  paper- 
cutter  of  massive  ivory,  inclosed  it  in  an  envelop  to- 
gether with  the  money,  and  rang  the  bell,  feeling  that 
sense  of  satisfaction  which  the  use  of  his  well-ordered, 
perfect  epistolary  arrangements  always  gave  him. 

"  Give  this  letter  to  the  courier  for  delivery  to  Anna 
Arkady evna  at  the  datcha  to-morrow,"  said  he,  and  arose. 

"  I  will  obey  your  excellency.^  Will  you  have  tea 
here  in  the  library  .''  " 

Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  ordered  tea  brought  to  him 
in  the  library ;  and  then,  still  playing  with  the  paper- 
cutter,  he  went  toward  his  arm-chair,  near  which  were  a 
shaded  lamp  and  a  French  work  on  cuneiform  inscrip- 
tions which  he  had  begun. 

^  VasAe  prevaskhodityelstvo. 


Above  the  chair,  in  an  oval  gilt  frame,  hung  a  por- 
trait of  Anna,  the  excellent  work  of  a  distinguished 
painter.  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch  looked  at  it.  The 
eyes,  as  inscrutable  as  they  had  been  on  the  evening  of 
their  attempted  explanation,  looked  down  at  him  ironi- 
cally and  insolently.  Everything  about  this  remarkable 
portrait  seemed  to  AlekseT  Aleksandrovitch  insupport- 
ably  insolent  and  provoking,  from  the  black  lace  on  her 
head  and  her  dark  hair,  to  the  white,  beautiful  hand 
and  the  ring-finger  covered  with  jeweled  rings. 

After  gazing  at  this  portrait  for  a  moment,  Aleksei 
Aleksandrovitch  shuddered,  his  lips  trembled,  and  with 
a  "  brr"  he  turned  away.  Hastily  sitting  down  in  his 
arm-chair,  he  opened  his  book.  He  tried  to  read,  but  he 
could  not  regain  the  keen  interest  which  he  had  felt  be- 
fore in  the  cuneiform  inscriptions.  His  eyes  looked  at 
the  book,  but  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere.  He  was 
thinking,  not  of  his  wife,  but  of  a  complication  which 
had  recently  arisen  in  important  matters  connected  with 
his  official  activity,  and  which  at  present  formed  the 
chief  interest  of  his  service.  He  felt  that  he  was  more 
deeply  than  ever  plunged  into  this  complicated  affair, 
and  that  he  could  without  self-conceit  claim  that  the 
idea  which  had  originated  in  his  brain  was  bound  to 
disentangle  the  whole  difficulty,  to  confirm  him  in  his 
official  career,  put  down  his  enemies,  and  thus  enable 
him  to  do  a  signal  service  to  the  State.  As  soon  as  his 
servant  had  brought  his  tea,  and  left  the  room,  AlekseK 
Aleksandrovitch  got  up  and  went  to  his  writing-table. 
Pushing  to  the  center  of  it  a  portfolio  which  contained 
papers  relating  to  this  affair,  he  seized  a  pencil  from 
the  stand,  and,  with  a  faintly  sarcastic  smile  of  self-sat- 
isfaction, buried  himself  in  the  perusal  of  the  documents 
relative  to  the  complicated  business  under  considera- 

The  complication  was  as  follows:  The  distinguish- 
ing trait  of  Alekser  Aleksandrovitch  as  a  government 
official, — the  one  characteristic  trait  peculiar  to  him 
alone,  though  it  must  mark  every  progressive  chinov- 
nik,  —  the  trait  which  had  contributed  to  his  success 

VOL.  II.  —  5 


no  less  than  his  eager  ambition,  his  moderation,  his 
uprightness,  and  his  self-confidence,  was  his  detesta- 
tion of  "red  tape,"  and  his  sincere  desire  to  avoid, 
as  far  as  he  could,  unnecessary  writing,  and  to  go 
straight  on  in  accomplishing  needful  business  with  all 
expedition  and  economy.  It  happened  that,  in  the 
famous  Commission  of  the  14th  of  June,  a  project  was 
mooted  for  the  irrigation  of  the  fields  in  the  government 
of  Zarai,  which  formed  a  part  of  Aleksei"  Aleksandro- 
vitch's  jurisdiction ;  and  this  project  offered  a  striking 
example  of  the  few  results  obtained  by  official  corre- 
spondence and  expenditure. 

Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  knew  that  it  was  a  worthy 
object.  The  matter  of  the  irrigation  of  the  fields  in  the 
government  of  Zaraif  had  come  to  him  by  inheritance 
from  his  predecessor  in  the  ministry,  and,  in  fact,  had  al- 
ready cost  much  money  and  brought  no  results.  When 
Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch  entered  the  ministry,  he  had 
perceived  this,  and  had  wanted  immediately  to  put  his 
hand  to  this  work ;  but  at  first  he  did  not  feel  himself 
strong  enough  and  perceived  that  it  touched  too  many 
interests  and  was  imprudent,  and  afterward,  having 
become  involved  in  other  matters,  he  entirely  forgot 
about  it. 

The  fertilization  of  the  ZaraY  fields,  like  all  things, 
went  in  its  own  way  by  force  of  inertia.  Many  people 
got  their  living  through  it,  and  one  family  in  particu- 
lar, a  very  agreeable  and  musical  family  —  all  of  the 
daughters  of  which  played  on  stringed  instruments. 
Aleksei'  Aleksandrovitch  knew  this  family,  and  had 
been  nuptial  godfather  ^  when  one  of  the  elder  daugh- 
ters was  married. 

The  opposition  to  this  affair,  raised  by  his  enemies  in 
another  branch  of  the  ministry,  was  unjust,  in  the  opin- 
ion of  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch,  because  in  every  min- 
istry there  are  similar  cases  which  by  a  well-known  rule 
of  official  etiquette  no  one  ever  bothers  himself  about. 
But  now,  since  they  had  thrown  down  the  gauntlet,  he 

1  Posazhonnui  otyets,  —  a  man  who  takes  the  father's  place  in  the  Rus- 
sian wedding  ceremuny. 


had  boldly  accepted  the  challenge  and  asked  for  the 
appointment  of  a  special  commission  for  examining  and 
verifying  the  labors  of  the  commissioners  on  the  fertili- 
zation of  the  Zarai'  fields ;  and  this  did  not  prevent  him 
from  also  keeping  these  gentlemen  busy  in  other  ways. 
He  had  also  demanded  a  special  commission  for  in- 
vestigating the  status  and  organization  of  the  foreign 

This  last  question  had  likewise  been  raised  by  the 
Commission  of  June  14,  and  was  energetically  supported 
by  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch,  on  the  ground  that  no  de- 
lay should  be  allowed  in  relieving  the  deplorable  situa- 
tion of  these  alien  tribes. 

In  committee  this  matter  gave  rise  to  the  most  lively 
discussions  among  the  ministries.  The  ministry  hostile 
to  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  proved  that  the  position  of 
the  foreign  populations  was  perfectly  flourishing;  that 
to  meddle  with  them  would  be  to  injure  their  well-being; 
and  that,  if  any  fault  could  be  found  in  regard  to  the 
matter,  it  was  due  to  the  neglect  of  Aleksei  Aleksandro- 
vitch and  his  ministry,  in  not  carrying  out  the  measures 
prescribed  by  law. 

Now  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  demand :  first,  the  appointment  of  a  new  committee, 
whose  duty  should  be  to  study  on  the  spot  the  condi- 
tion of  the  foreign  populations ;  secondly,  in  case  their 
condition  should  be  found  such  as  the  official  data  in 
the  hands  of  the  committee  represented,  that  a  new 
scientific  commission  should  be  sent  to  study  into  the 
causes  of  this  sad  state  of  things,  with  the  aim  of  set- 
tling it  from  the  (a)  political,  (d)  administrative,  (c) 
economical,  (d)  ethnographical,  (e)  physical,  and  (/') 
religious  point  of  view ;  thirdly,  that  the  hostile  min- 
istry should  be  required  to  furnish  the  particulars  in 
regard  to  the  measures  taken  during  the  last  ten  years 
to  relieve  the  wretched  situation  in  which  these  tribes 
were  placed ;  and  fourthly  and  finally,  that  this  minis- 
try should  explain  the  fact  that  they  had  acted  in 
absolute  contradiction  to  the  fundamental  and  organic 
law,  Volume  T,  page  18,  with  reference  to  Article  36, 


as  was  proved  by  an  act  of  the  committee  under  num- 
bers 17,015  and  18,308  of  the  17th  of  December,  1863, 
and  the  19th  of  June,  1864. 

A  flush  of  animation  covered  Aleksei  Aleksandro- 
vitch's  face  as  he  rapidly  wrote  down  for  his  own  use 
a  digest  of  these  thoughts.  After  he  had  covered  a 
sheet  of  paper,  he  rang  a  bell,  and  sent  a  messenger 
to  the  director  of  the  chancelry,  asking  for  a  few  data 
which  were  missing.  Then  he  got  up,  and  began  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  room,  looking  again  at  the 
portrait  with  a  frown  and  a  scornful  smile.  Then  he 
resumed  his  book  about  the  cuneiform  inscriptions,  and 
found  that  his  interest  of  the  evening  before  had  come 
back  to  him.  He  went  to  bed  about  eleven  o'clock ; 
and  as  he  lay,  still  awake,  he  passed  in  review  the  affair 
with  his  wife,  and  it  no  longer  appeared  to  him  in  the 
same  gloomy  aspect. 


Though  Anna  had  obstinately  and  angrily  contra- 
dicted Vronsky  when  he  told  her  that  her  position  was 
impossible,  yet  in  the  bottom  of  her  heart  she  felt  that 
it  was  false  and  dishonorable,  and  she  longed  with  all 
her  soul  to  escape  from  it.  When,  in  a  moment  of  agi- 
tation, she  avowed  all  to  her  husband  as  they  were  re- 
turning from  the  races,  notwithstanding  the  pain  which 
it  cost  her,  she  felt  glad.  After  Aleksei"  Aleksandro- 
vitch  left  her,  she  kept  repeating  to  herself  that  she 
was  glad,  that  now  all  was  explained,  and  that  hence- 
forth there  would  be  at  least  no  more  need  of  falsehood 
and  deception.  It  seemed  to  her  indubitable  that  now 
her  position  would  be  henceforth  determined.  It  might 
be  bad,  but  it  would  be  definite,  and  there  would  be  an 
end  to  lying  and  equivocation.  The  pain  which  her 
words  had  cost  her  husband  and  herself  would  have 
its  compensation,  she  thought,  in  the  fact  that  now  all 
would  be  definite. 

That  very  evening  Vronsky  came  to  see  her,  but  she 


did  not  tell  him  what  had  taken  place  between  her  hus- 
band and  herself,  although  it  was  needful  to  tell  him,  in 
order  that  the  affair  might  be  definitely  settled. 

The  next  morning,  when  she  awoke,  her  first  memory 
was  of  the  words  that  she  had  spoken  to  her  husband ; 
and  they  seemed  to  her  so  odious,  that  she  could  not  im- 
agine now  how  she  could  have  brought  herself  to  say 
such  strange  brutal  words,  and  she  could  not  conceive 
what  the  result  of  them  would  be.  But  the  words  were 
irrevocable,  and  Aleksei'  Aleksandrovitch  had  departed 
without  replying. 

"  I  have  seen  Vronsky  since,  and  I  did  not  tell  him. 
Even  at  the  moment  he  went  away,  I  wanted  to  hold 
him  back  and  to  tell  him ;  but  I  postponed  it  because  I 
felt  how  strange  it  was  that  I  did  not  tell  him  at  the 
first  moment.  Why  did  I  have  the  desire,  and  yet  not 
speak  .-* " 

And,  in  reply  to  this  question,  the  hot  flush  of  shame 
kindled  in  her  face.  She  realized  that  it  was  shame  that 
kept  her  from  speaking.  Her  position,  which  the  even- 
ing before  had  seemed  to  her  so  clear,  suddenly  pre- 
sented itself  as  very  far  from  clear,  as  inextricable.  She 
began  to  fear  the  dishonor  about  which  she  had  not 
thought  before.  When  she  considered  what  her  hus- 
band might  do  to  her,  the  most  terrible  ideas  came  to 
her  mind.  It  occurred  to  her  that  at  any  instant  the 
steward  ^  might  appear  to  drive  her  out  of  house  and 
home,  and  that  her  shame  might  be  proclaimed  to  all 
the  world.  She  asked  herself  where  she  could  go  if 
they  drove  her  from  home,  and  she  found  no  answer. 

When  she  thought  of  Vronsky,  she  imagined  that  he 
did  not  love  her,  and  that  he  was  already  beginning  to 
tire  of  her,  and  that  she  could  not  impose  herself  on 
him,  and  she  felt  angry  with  him.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  the  words  which  she  spoke  to  her  husband,  and 
which  she  incessantly  repeated  to  herself,  were  spoken 
so  that  everybody  could  hear  them,  and  had  heard  them. 
She  could  not  bring  herself  to  look  in  the  faces  of  those 
with  whom  she  lived.     She  could  not  bring  herself  to 

^  Upravlyayushchy. 


ring  for  her  maid,  and  still  less  to  go  down  and  meet 
her  son  and  his  governess. 

The  maid  came,  and  stood  long  at  the  door,  listening ; 
finally  she  decided  to  go  to  her  without  a  summons.  Anna 
looked  at  her  questioningly,  and  in  her  terror  she  blushed. 
The  maid  apologized  for  coming,  saying  that  she  thought 
she  heard  the  bell.  She  brought  a  gown  and  a  note. 
The  note  was  from  Betsy.  Betsy  reminded  her  that 
Liza  Merkalova  and  the  Baroness  Stolz  with  their 
adorers,  Kaluzhsky  and  the  old  man  Stremof ,  were  com- 
ing to  her  house  that  morning  for  a  game  of  croquet. 
"  Come  and  look  on,  please,  as  a  study  of  manners.  I 
shall  expect  you,"  was  the  conclusion  of  the  note. 

Anna  read  the  letter,  and  sighed  profoundly. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  I  need  nothing,"  said  she  to  An- 
nushka,  who  was  arranging  the  brushes  and  toilet  articles 
on  her  dressing-table.  "  Go  away.  I  will  dress  myself 
immediately,  and  come  down.     I  need  nothing." 

Annushka  went  out ;  yet  Anna  did  not  begin  to  dress, 
but  sat  in  the  same  attitude,  with  bent  head  and  folded 
hands ;  and  occasionally  she  would  shiver,  and  begin  to 
make  some  gesture,  to  say  something,  and  then  fall  back 
into  Hstlessness  again.  She  kept  saying,  '■'■  Bozhe  moi ! 
Bozhe  moi' /"^  hut  the  words  had  no  meaning  in  her 
mind.  The  thought  of  seeking  a  refuge  from  her  situa- 
tion in  religion,  although  she  never  doubted  the  faith  in 
which  she  had  been  trained,  seemed  to  her  as  strange  as 
to  go  and  ask  help  of  Aleksei'  Aleksandrovitch  him- 
self. She  knew  beforehand  that  the  refuge  offered  by 
religion  was  possible  only  by  the  absolute  renunciation 
of  all  that  constituted  for  her  the  meaning  of  life.  She 
suffered,  and  was  frightened  besides,  by  a  sensation  that 
was  new  to  her  experience  hitherto,  and  which  seemed 
to  her  to  take  possession  of  her  inmost  soul.  She  seemed 
to  feel  double,  just  as  sometimes  eyes,  when  weary,  see 
double.  She  knew  not  what  she  feared,  what  she  de- 
sired. She  knew  not  whether  she  feared  and  desired 
what  had  passed  or  what  was  to  come,  and  what  she 
desired  she  did  not  know. 

1  Literally,  «  My  God." 


"  Oh  !  what  am  I  doing  ? "  she  cried,  suddenly  feel- 
ing a  pain  in  both  temples ;  and  she  discovered  that 
she  had  taken  her  hair  in  her  two  hands,  and  was  pull- 
ing it.     She  got  up,  and  began  to  walk  the  floor. 

'•  The  coffee  is  served,  and  Mavizel  and  Serozha  are 
waiting,"  said  Annushka,  coming  in  again,  and  finding 
her  mistress  in  the  same  condition  as  before. 

"  Serozha .''  what  is  Serozha  doing,"  suddenly  asked 
Anna,  remembering,  for  the  first  time  that  morning,  the 
existence  of  her  son, 

"  He  has  been  naughty,  I  think,"  said  Annushka, 
with  a  smile. 

"  How  naughty  .-'  " 

"You  had  some  peaches  in  the  corner  cupboard;  he 
took  one,  and  ate  it  on  the  sly,  it  seems." 

The  thought  of  her  son  suddenly  called  Anna  from 
the  impassive  state  in  which  she  had  been  sunk.  She 
remembered  the  partly  sincere,  though  somewhat  ex- 
aggerated, role  of  devoted  mother,  which  she  had  taken 
on  herself  for  a  number  of  years,  and  she  felt  with  joy 
that  in  this  relationship  she  had  a  standpoint  indepen- 
dent of  her  relation  to  her  husband  and  Vronsky. 
This  standpoint  was  —  her  son.  In  whatever  situation 
she  might  be  placed,  she  could  not  give  him  up.  Her 
husband  might  drive  her  from  him,  and  put  her  to 
shame ;  Vronsky  might  turn  his  back  on '  her,  and 
resume  his  former  independent  life,  —  and  here  again 
she  thought  of  him  with  a  feeling  of  anger  and  reproach, 
—  but  she  could  not  leave  her  son.  She  had  an  aim 
in  life ;  and  she  must  act,  act  so  as  to  safeguard  this 
relation  toward  her  son,  so  that  they  could  not  take 
him  from  her.  She  must  act  as  speedily  as  possible 
before  they  took  him  from  her.  She  must  take  her 
son  and  go  off.  That  was  the  one  thing  which  she 
now  had  to  do.  She  must  calm  herself,  and  get  away 
from  this  tormenting  situation.  The  very  thought  of 
an  action  having  reference  to  her  son,  and  of  going 
away  with  him  anywhere,  anywhere,  already  gave  her 

She  dressed  in  haste,  went  down-stairs,  and  with  firm 


steps  entered  the  drawing-room,  where,  as  usual,  she 
found  lunch  ready,  and  Serozha  and  the  governess  wait- 
ing for  her.  Serozha,  all  in  white,  was  standing  near 
a  table  under  the  mirror,  with  the  expression  of  con- 
centrated attention  which  she  knew  so  well,  and  in 
which  he  resembled  his  father.  Bending  over,  he  was 
busy  with  some  flowers  which  he  had  brought  in. 

The  governess  had  a  very  stern  expression.  Serozha, 
as  soon  as  he  saw  his  mother,  uttered  a  sharp  cry, 
which  was  a  frequent  custom  of  his,  —  "  Ah,  mamma  !  " 
Then  he  stopped,  undecided  whether  to  throw  down 
the  flowers  and  run  to  his  mother,  and  let  the  flowers 
go,  or  to  finish  his  bouquet  and  take  it  to  her. 

The  governess  bowed,  and  began  a  long  and  circum- 
stantial account  of  the  naughtiness  that  Serozha  had 
committed ;  but  Anna  did  not  hear  her.  She  was 
thinking  whether  she  should  take  her  with  them. 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  she  decided;  "I  will  go  alone  with 
my  son." 

"Yes,  that  was  very  naughty,"  said  Anna;  and,  tak- 
ing the  boy  by  the  shoulder,  she  looked  with  a  gentle, 
not  angry,  face  at  the  confused  but  happy  boy,  and 
kissed  him.  "  Leave  him  with  me,"  said  she  to  the 
wondering  governess ;  and,  not  letting  go  his  arm,  she 
sat  down  at  the  table  where  the  coffee  was  waiting. 

"  Mamnia  ....  I  ....  I  ....  did  n't ...."  stammered  Serozha, 
trying  to  judge  by  his  mother's  expression  what  fate  was 
in  store  for  him  for  having  pilfered  the  peach. 

"Serozha,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  the  governess  had 
left  the  room,  "  that  was  naughty.  You  will  not  do  it 
again,  will  you .-'....  Do  you  love  me  .-*  " 

She  felt  that  the  tears  were  standing  in  her  eyes. 
"  Why  can  I  not  love  him  ? "  she  asked  herself,  study- 
ing the  boy's  frightened  and  yet  happy  face.  "  And 
can  he  join  with  his  father  to  punish  me  ?  Will  he  not 
have  pity  on  me  .-•  " 

The  tears  began  to  course  down  her  face ;  and,  in 
order  to  hide  them,  she  rose  up  quickly,  and  hastened, 
almost  ran,  to  the  terrace. 

Clear,  cool  weather  had  succeeded  the  stormy  rains 


of  the  last  few  days.  In  spite  of  the  warm  sun  which 
shone  on  the  thick  foliage  of  the  trees,  it  was  cool  in 
the  shade. 

She  shivered  both  from  the  coolness  and  from  the 
sentiment  of  fear  which  in  the  cool  air  seized  her  with 
new  force. 

"Go,  go  and  find  Mariette,"  said  she  to  Serozha,  who 
had  followed  her ;  and  then  she  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  on  the  straw  carpet  which  covered  the  terrace. 
"  Will  they  not  forgive  me  .'* "  she  asked  herself.  "Will 
they  not  understand  that  all  this  could  not  possibly  have 
been  otherwise  .-* " 

As  she  stopped  and  looked  at  the  top  of  the  aspens 
waving  in  the  wind,  with  their  freshly  washed  leaves 
glittering  brightly  in  the  cool  sunbeams,  it  seemed  to 
her  that  they  would  not  forgive  her,  that  all,  that  every- 
thing, would  be  as  pitiless  toward  her  as  that  sky  and 
that  foliage.  And  again  she  felt  that  mysterious  sense 
in  her  inmost  soul  that  she  was  in  a  dual  state. 

"  I  must  not,  must  not  think,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  I  must  have  courage.  Where  shall  .1  go  }  When  ? 
Whom  shall  I  take .-'  Yes  !  to  Moscow  by  the  evening 
train,  with  Annushka  and  Serozha  and  only  the  most 
necessary  things.     But  first  I  must  write  to  them  both." 

She  hurried  back  into  the  house  to  her  boudoir,  sat 
down  at  the  table,  and  wrote  her  husband :  — 

After  what  has  passed,  I  cannot  longer  remain  in  your  house. 
I  am  going  away,  and  I  shall  take  my  son.  I  do  not  know  the 
laws,  and  so  I  do  not  know  with  which  of  his  parents  the  child 
should  remain ;  but  I  take  him  with  me,  because  I  cannot  live 
without  him.     Be  magnanimous  ;  let  me  have  him. 

Up  to  this  point  she  wrote  rapidly  and  naturally ; 
but  this  appeal  to  a  magnanimity  which  she  had  never 
seen  in  him,  and  the  need  of  ending  her  letter  with 
something  affecting,  brought  her  to  a  halt. 

"  I  cannot  speak  of  my  fault  and  my  repentance, 
because ....  "  Again  she  stopped,  unable  to  find  the 
right  words  to  express  her  thoughts.  "  No,"  she  said, 
"  nothing   more   is   necessary ; "    and,  tearing   up    this 


letter,  she  began  another,  from  which  she  left  out  any 
appeal  to  his  generosity,  and  sealed  it. 

She  had  to  write  a  second  letter,  to  Vronsky. 

"  I  have  confessed  to  my  husband,"  she  began ;  and 
she  sat  long  wrapped  in  thought,  without  being  able  to 
write  more.  That  was  so  coarse,  so  unfeminine  !  "  And 
then,  what  can  I  write  to  him.-'"  she  asked  herself. 
Again  the  crimson  of  shame  mantled  her  face  as  she 
remembered  how  calm  he  was,  and  she  felt  so  vexed 
with  him  that  she  tore  the  sheet  of  paper  with  its  one 
phrase  into  little  bits.  "  I  cannot  write,"  she  said  to 
herself ;  and,  closing  her  desk,  she  went  up-stairs,  told 
the  governess  and  the  domestics  that  she  was  going  to 
Moscow  that  evening,  and  instantly  began  to  make  her 


In  all  the  rooms  of  the  villa,  the  men-servants,  the 
gardeners,  the  lackeys,  were  hurrying  about  laden  with 
various  things.  Cupboards  and  commodes  were  cleared 
of  their  contents.  Twice  they  had  gone  to  the  shop  for 
packing-cord ;  on  the  floor  lay  piles  of  newspapers. 
Two  trunks,  traveling-bags,  and  a  bundle  of  plaids 
had  been  carried  into  the  anteroom.  A  carriage  and 
two  cabs  were  waiting  at  the  front  door.  Anna,  who  in 
the  haste  of  packing  had  somewhat  forgotten  her  in- 
ward anguish,  was  standing  by  her  table  in  her  boudoir 
and  packing  her  bag,  when  Annushka  called  her  atten- 
tion to  the  rumble  of  a  carriage  approaching  the  house. 

Anna  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  saw  on  the 
steps  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch's  messenger-boy  ringing 
the  front-door  bell. 

"  Go  and  see  what  it  is,"  said  she,  and  then  sat  down 
in  her  chair  and,  folding  her  hands  on  her  knees, 
waited  with  calm  resignation.  A  lackey  brought  her 
a  fat  packet  directed  in  Aleksef  Aleksandrovitch's 

"The  messenger  was  ordered  to  wait  an  answer," 
said  he. 


"Very  well,"  she  replied;  and  as  soon  as  he  left  the 
room  she  opened  the  packet  with  trembling  fingers.  A 
roll  of  fresh,  new  bank-notes,  in  a  wrapper,  fell  out  first. 
She  unfolded  the  letter  and  began  to  read  it  at  the  end. 
"  All  the   necessary  measures   for   your   return  hither 

will  be  taken I  attach  a  very  particular  importance 

to  your  attention  to  my  request,"  she  read. 

She  ran  it  through  hastily  backwards,  a  second  time, 
read  it  all  through,  and  then  she  read  it  again  from 
beginning  to  end.  When  she  had  finished  it,  she  felt 
chilled,  and  had  the  consciousness  that  some  terrible 
and  unexpected  misfortune  was  crushing  her. 

That  very  morning  she  had  regretted  her  confession 
to  her  husband,  and  desired  nothing  so  much  as  that  she 
had  not  spoken  those  words.  And  this  letter  treated 
her  words  as  if  they  had  not  been  spoken,  gave  her 
what  she  desired.  And  yet  it  seemed  to  her  more 
cruel  than  anything  that  she  could  have  imagined. 

"  Right,  he  is  right ! "  she  murmured.  "  Of  course 
he  is  always  right ;  he  is  a  Christian,  he  is  magnani- 
mous !  Yes,  the  low,  vile  man  !  No  one  understands, 
no  one  knows  him  but  me ;  and  I  cannot  explain  it. 
People  say,  '  He  is  a  religious,  moral,  honorable,  intel- 
lectual man.'  But  they  have  not  seen  what  I  have 
seen ;  they  do  not  know  how  for  eight  years  he  has 
crushed  my  life,  crushed  everything  that  was  vital  in 
me ;  how  he  has  never  once  thought  of  me  as  a  living 
woman  who  needed  love.  They  don't  know  how  at 
every  step  he  has  insulted  me,  and  yet  remained  self- 
satisfied.  Have  I  not  striven,  striven  with  all  my 
powers,  to  find  a  justification  of  my  life .-'  Have  I  not 
done  my  best  to  love  him,  to  love  his  son  when  I  could 
not  love  my  husband .-"  But  the  time  came  when  I 
found  I  could  no  longer  deceive  myself,  that  I  am  a 
living  being,  that  I  am  not  to  blame,  that  God  has 
made  me  so,  that  I  must  love  and  live.  And  now  what  ? 
He  might  kill  me,  he  might  kill  /nm,  and  I  could  endure 
it,  I  could  forgive  it.     But  no,  he.... 

"  Why  should  I  not  have  foreseen  what  he  would  do  ? 
He  does  exactly  in  accordance  with  his  despicable  char- 


acter ;  he  stands  on  his  rights.  But  I,  poor  unfortunate, 
am  sunk  lower  and  more  irreclaimably  than  ever  toward 
ruin.  '  Yo?i  may  stinnise  tvJiat  awaits  you  and  your  son,'  " 
she  repeated  to  herself,  remembering  a  sentence  in  his 
letter.  "  It  is  a  threat  that  he  means  to  rob  me  of  my 
son,  and  doubtless  their  wretched  laws  allow  it.  But, 
do  I  not  see  why  he  said  that  ?  He  has  no  belief  in  my 
love  for  my  son  ;  or  else  he  is  deriding,  —  as  he  always 
does,  in  his  sarcastic  manner,  —  is  deriding  this  feeling 
of  mine,  for  he  knows  that  I  will  not  abandon  my  son  — 
I  cannot  abandon  him;  that  without  my  son,  life  would 
be  unsupportable,  even  with  him  whom  I  love  ;  and  that 
to  abandon  my  son,  and  leave  him,  I  should  fall  like  the 
worst  of  women.  This  he  knows,  and  knows  that  I 
should  never  have  the  power  to  do  so. 

"  *  Our  lives  must  remain  tinchanged,'  "  she  continued, 
remembering  another  sentence  in  the  letter.  "This 
life  was  a  torture  before  ;  but  of  late  it  has  grown  worse 
than  ever.  What  will  it  be  now .-'  And  he  knows  all 
this,  —  knows  that  I  cannot  repent  because  I  breathe, 
because  I  love;  he  knows  that  nothing  except  falsehood 
and  deceit  can  result  from  this :  but  he  must  needs  pro- 
long my  torture.  I  know  him,  and  I  know  that  he 
swims  in  perjury  like  a  fish  in  water.  But  no;  I  will 
not  give  him  this  pleasure.  I  will  break  this  network  of 
lies  in  which  he  wants  to  enwrap  me.  Come  what  may, 
anything  is  better  than  lies  and  deception. 

"  But  how  .''  Bozhe  mof !  Bozhe  moif !  Was  there 
ever  woman  so  unhappy  as  I  ? .... 

"  No,  I  will  break  it !  I  will  break  it ! "  she  cried, 
springing  to  her  feet  and  striving  to  keep  back  the  tears. 
And  she  went  to  her  writing-table  to  begin  another 
letter  to  him.  But  in  the  lowest  depths  of  her  soul  she 
felt  that  she  had  not  the  power  to  break  the  network  of 
circumstances,  —  that  she  had  not  the  power  to  escape 
from  the  situation  in  which  she  was  placed,  false  and 
dishonorable  though  it  was. 

She  sat  down  at  the  table  ;  but,  instead  of  writing, 
she  folded  her  arms  on  the  table,  and  bowed  her  head 
on  them,  and  began  to  weep  like  a  child,  with  heaving 


breast  and  convulsive  sobs.  She  wept  because  her 
visions  about  an  explanation,  about  a  settlement  of  her 
position,  had  vanished  forever.  She  knew  that  now  all 
things  would  go  on  as  before,  and  even  worse  than  be- 
fore. She  felt  that  her  position  in  society,  which  she 
had  slighted,  and  even  that  morning  counted  as  dross, 
was  dear  to  her ;  that  she  should  never  have  the 
strength  to  abandon  it  for  the  shameful  position  of  a 
woman  who  has  deserted  her  husband  and  son  and 
joined  her  lover ;  she  felt  that  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts 
she  should  never  be  stronger  than  herself.  She  never 
would  know  what  freedom  to  love  meant,  but  would  be 
always  a  guilty  woman,  constantly  under  the  threat  of 
detection,  deceiving  her  husband  for  the  disgraceful  so- 
ciety of  an  independent  stranger,  with  whose  life  she 
could  never  join  hers.  She  knew  that  this  would  be  so, 
and  yet  at  the  same  time  it  was  so  terrible  that  she  could 
not  acknowledge,  even  to  herself,  how  it  would  end. 
And  she  wept,  unrestrainedly  as  a  child  who  has  been 
punished  sobs. 

The  steps  of  a  lackey  approaching  brought  her  to 
herself;  and,  hiding  from  him  her  face,  she  pretended 
to  be  writing. 

"  The  courier  would  like  his  answer,"  said  the 

"  His  answer  ?  Oh,  yes !  "  said  Anna.  "  Let  him 
wait.     I  will  ring." 

"What  can  I  write.'"'  she  asked  herself  "How 
decide  by  myself  alone  ?  What  do  I  know  ?  What  do 
I  want  ?     Whom  do  I  love  ?  " 

Again  it  seemed  to  her  that  in  her  soul  she  felt  the 
dual  nature.  She  was  alarmed  at  this  feeling,  and 
seized  on  the  first  pretext  for  activity  that  presented 
itself  so  that  she  might  be  freed  from  thoughts  about 

"  I  must  see  AlekseY "  (thus  in  thought  she  called 
Vronsky) ;  "  he  alone  can  tell  me  what  I  must  do.  I 
will  go  to  Betsy's.     Perhaps  I  shall  find  him  there." 

She  completely  forgot  that  on  the  evening  before, 
when  she  told  him  that  she  was  not  going  to  the  Prin- 


cess  Tverskaya's,  he  said  that  in  that  case  he  should 
not  go  there  either. 

She  went  to  the  table  again,  and  wrote  her  husband:  — 

I  have  received  your  letter. 


She  rang,  and  gave  it  to  the  lackey. 

"  We  are  not  going,"  said  she  to  Annushka,  who  was 
just  coming  in. 

"  Not  going  at  all  ?  " 

"No;  but  don't  unpack  before  to-morrow,  and  have 
the  carriage  wait.     I  am  going  to  the  princess's." 

"  What  gown  shall  you  wear  ?  " 


The  croquet  party  to  which  the  Princess  Tverskaya 
invited  Anna  was  to  consist  of  two  ladies  and  their 
adorers.  These  two  ladies  were  the  leading  represen- 
tatives of  a  new  and  exclusive  Petersburg  clique,  called, 
in  imitation  of  an  imitation,  /es  sept  mei'veilles  dii  monde, 
the  seven  wonders  of  the  world.  Both  of  them  be- 
longed to  the  highest  society,  but  to  a  circle  absolutely 
hostile  to  that  in  which  Anna  moved.  Moreover,  old 
Stremof,  one  of  the  influential  men  of  the  city,  and 
Liza  Merkalof's  lover,  was  in  the  service  of  Aleksei 
Alcksandrovitch's  enemies.  From  all  these  considera- 
tions Anna  did  not  care  to  go  to  Betsy's,  and  her  refusal 
called  forth  the  hints  in  the  Princess  Tverskaya's  note ; 
but  now  she  decided  to  go,  hoping  to  find  Vronsky 

She  reached  the  Princess  Tverskaya's  before  the  other 

Just  as  she  arrived  Vronsky's  lackey,  with  his  well- 
combed  side-whiskers,  like  a  kammer-junker,  was  at 
the  door.  Raising  his  cap,  he  stepped  aside  to  let  her 
pass.  Anna  recognized  him  and  only  then  remembered 
that  Vronsky  had  told  her  that  he  was  not  coming. 
Undoubtedly  he  had  sent  him  with  his  excuses. 


As  she  was  taking  off  her  wraps  in  the  anteroom 
she  heard  the  lackey,  who  rolled  his  R's  like  a  kam>ner- 
jtinker,  say,  "  From  the  count  to  the  princess,"  at  the 
same  time  he  delivered  his  note. 

She  wanted  to  ask  him  where  his  barin  was.  She 
wanted  to  go  back  and  write  him  a  note,  asking  him  to 
come  to  her,  or  to  go  and  find  him  herself.  But  she 
could  not  follow  out  any  of  these  plans,  for  the  bell 
had  already  announced  her  presence,  and  one  of  the 
princess's  lackeys  was  waiting  at  the  door  to  usher  her 
into  the  rooms  beyond. 

"  The  princess  is  in  the  garden.  Word  has  been  sent 
to  her.  Would  you  not  like  to  step  out  into  the  gar- 
den ?  "  said  a  second  lackey  in  the  second  room. 

Her  position  of  uncertainty,  of  darkness,  was  just  the 
same  as  at  home.  It  was  even  worse,  because  she 
could  not  make  any  decision,  she  could  not  see  Vronsky, 
and  she  was  obliged  to  remain  in  the  midst  of  a  com- 
pany of  strangers  diametrically  opposed  to  her  present 
mood.  But  she  wore  a  toilet  which  she  knew  was  very 
becoming.  She  was  not  alone,  she  was  surrounded  by  that 
solemn  atmosphere  of  indolence  so  familiar;  and  on  the 
whole  it  was  better  to  be  there  than  at  home.  She  was 
not  obliged  to  think  what  she  would  do.  Things  would 
arrange  themselves. 

Betsy  came  to  meet  her  in  a  white  toilet  absolutely 
stunning  in  its  elegance  ;  and  Anna  greeted  her,  as 
usual,  with  a  smile.  The  Princess  Tverskaya  was  ac- 
companied by  Tushkievitch  and  a  young  relative  who, 
to  the  great  delight  of  the  provincial  family  to  which 
she  belonged,  was  spending  the  summer  with  the  famous 

Apparently  there  was  something  unnatural  in  Anna's 
appearance,  for  Betsy  immediately  remarked  it. 

"  I  did  not  sleep  well,"  replied  Anna,  looking  furtively 
at  the  lackey,  who  was  coming,  as  she  supposed,  to 
bring  Vronsky's  note  to  the  princess. 

"  How  glad  I  am  that  you  came  !  "  said  Betsy.  "  I 
am  just  up,  and  I  should  like  to  have  a  cup  of  tea  before 
the  others  come.     And  you,"  she  said,  addressing  Tush- 


kievitch,  "  had  better  go  with  Maska  and  try  the  kroket- 
gro-und,  which  has  just  been  cHpped.  You  and  I  will 
have  time  to  have  a  little  confidential  talk  while  taking  our 
tea.  We  '11  have  a  cozy  chat,  won't  we  ?  "  she  added  in 
English,  addressing  Anna  with  a  smile,  and  taking  her 
hand,  in  which  she  held  a  sunshade. 

"  All  the  more  willingly  because  I  cannot  stay  long. 
I  must  call  on  old  Vrede ;  I  have  been  promising  for 
a  hundred  years  to  come  and  see  her,"  said  Anna,  to 
whom  the  lie,  though  contrary  to  her  nature,  seemed 
not  only  simple  and  easy,  but  even  pleasurable.  Why 
she  said  a  thing  which  she  forgot  the  second  after,  she 
herself  could  not  have  told ;  she  said  it  at  haphazard, 
so  that,  in  case  Vronsky  were  not  coming,  she  might 
have  a  way  of  escape,  and  try  to  find  him  elsewhere ; 
and  why  she  happened  to  select  the  name  of  old 
Freilina  Vrede  rather  than  any  other  of  her  acquain- 
tances was  likewise  inexplicable.  But,  as  events  proved, 
out  of  all  the  possible  schemes  for  meeting  Vronsky, 
she  could  not  have  chosen  a  better. 

"  No,  I  shall  not  let  you  go,"  replied  Betsy,  scruti- 
nizing Anna's  face.  "  Indeed,  if  I  were  not  so  fond  of 
you,  I  should  be  tempted  to  be  vexed  with  you ;  any- 
body would  think  that  you  were  afraid  of  my  company 
compromising  you. — Tea  in  the  little  parlor,  if  you 
please,"  said  she  to  the  lackey,  blinking  her  eyes  as 
was  habitual  with  her ;  and,  taking  the  letter  from 
him,  she  began  to  read  it. 

"Aleksei"  disappoints  us,"^  said  she  in  French.  "He 
writes  that  he  cannot  come,"  she  added,  in  a  tone  as 
simple  and  unaffected  as  if  it  had  never  entered  her 
mind  that  Vronsky  was  of  any  more  interest  to  Anna 
than  as  a  possible  partner  in  a  game  of  croquet.  Anna 
knew  that  Betsy  knew  all ;  but,  as  she  heard  Betsy 
speak  of  Vronsky  now,  she  almost  brought  herself  to 
believe  for  a  moment  that  she  knew  nothing. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said  indifferently,  as  if  it  was  a  detail 
which  did  not  interest  her.  "  How,"  she  continued, 
still  smiling,  "could  your  society  compromise  any  one.-*" 

*  Alexis  nous  fait  faux  bond. 


This  manner  of  playing  with  words,  this  hiding  a 
secret,  had  a  great  charm  for  Anna,  as  it  has  for  all 
women.  And  it  was  not  the  necessity  of  secrecy,  or 
the  reason  for  secrecy,  but  the  process  itself,  that  gave 
the  pleasure. 

"I  cannot  be  more  Catholic  than  the  Pope,"  she  said. 
"  Stremof  and  Liza  Merkalof,  they  are  the  cream  of  the 
cream  of  society.  They  are  received  everywhere.  But 
/"  —  she  laid  special  stress  on  the/ — "/have  never 
been  severe  and  intolerant.  I  simply  have  not  had 

"  No.  But  perhaps  you  prefer  not  to  meet  Stremof  ? 
Let  him  break  lances  with  Aleksei  Aleksandrovitch  in 
committee-meetings  ;  that  does  not  concern  us.  But  in 
society  he  is  as  lovely  a  man  as  I  know,  and  a  passion- 
ate lover  of  croquet.  But  you  shall  see  him.  And  you 
must  see  how  admirably  he  conducts  himself  in  his 
ridiculous  position  as  Liza's  aged  lover.  He  is  very 
charming.  Don't  you  know  Safo  Stoltz }  She  is  the 
latest,  absolutely  the  latest  style." 

While  Betsy  was  saying  all  this,  Anna  perceived,  by 
her  joyous,  intelligent  eyes,  that  she  saw  her  embarrass- 
ment and  was  trying  to  put  her  at  her  ease.  They  had 
gone  into  the  little  boudoir. 

"  By  the  way,  I  must  write  a  word  to  AlekseY." 

And  Betsy  sat  down  at  her  writing-table,  hastily 
penned  a  few  lines,  and  inclosed  them  in  an  envelop. 
"  I  wrote  him  to  come  to  dinner.  One  of  the  ladies 
who  is  going  to  be  here  has  no  gentleman.  See  if  I 
am  imperative  enough.  Excuse  me  if  I  leave  you  a 
moment.  Please  seal  it  and  direct  it,"  said  she  at  the 
door,  "  I  have  some  arrangements  to  make." 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  Anna  took  Betsy's 
seat  at  the  table,  and,  without  reading  her  note,  added 
these  words  :  — 

I  must  see  you  without  fail.  Come  to  the  Vrede's  Garden. 
I  will  be  there  at  six  o'clock. 

She  sealed  the  letter  ;  and  Betsy,  coming  a  moment 
later,  despatched  it  at  once. 


The  two  ladies  took  their  tea  at  a  Httle  table  in  the 
cool  boudoir,  and  had  indeed  a  cozy  chat  as  the  princess 
had  promised,  until  the  arrival  of  her  guests.  They 
expressed  their  judgments  on  them,  beginning  with 
Liza  Merkalof. 

"  She  is  very  charming,  and  she  has  always  been 
congenial  to  me,"  said  Anna. 

"  You  ought  to  like  her.  She  adores  you.  Yesterday 
evening,  after  the  races,  she  came  to  see  me,  and  was 
in  despair  not  to  find  you.  She  says  that  you  are  a 
genuine  heroine  of  a  romance,  and  that  if  she  were 
a  man,  she  would  commit  a  thousand  follies  for  your 
sake.      Stremof  told  her  she  did  that,  even  as  she  was." 

"  But  please  tell  me  one  thing  I  never  could  under- 
stand," said  Anna,  after  a  moment  of  silence,  and  in  a 
tone  which  clearly  showed  that  she  did  not  ask  an  idle 
question  but  that  what  she  wanted  explained  was  more 
important  to  her  than  would  appear.  "  Please  tell  me, 
what  are  the  relations  between  her  and  Prince  Kaluzh- 
sky,  the  man  they  call  Mishka .-'  I  have  rarely  seen 
them  together.     What  are  their  relations  .-'  " 

A  smile  came  into  Betsy's  eyes,  and  she  looked  keenly 
at  Anna. 

"It's  a  new  kind,"  she  replied.  "All  these  ladies 
have  adopted  it.  They  've  thrown  their  caps  behind  the 
mill.     But  there  are  ways  and  ways  of  throwing  them." 

"  Yes,  but  what  are  her  relations  with  Kaluzhsky } " 

Betsy,  to  Anna's  surprise,  broke  into  a  gale  of  irresisti- 
ble laughter,  which  was  an  unusual  thing  with  her. 

"  But  you  are  trespassing  on  the  Princess  Miagkaya's 
province ;  it  is  the  question  of  an  enfant  terrible,''  said 
Betsy,  trying  in  vain  to  restrain  her  gayety,  but  again 
breaking  out  into  that  contagious  laughter  which  is  the 
peculiarity  of  people  who  rarely  laugh.  "  But  you  must 
ask  them,"  she  at  length  managed  to  say,  with  the  tears 
running  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Well !  you  laugh,"  said  Anna,  in  spite  of  herself 
joining  in  her  friend's  amusement;  "but  I  never  could 
understand  it  at  all,  and  I  don't  understand  what  part 
the  husband  plays." 


"  The  husband  ?  Liza  Merkalof's  husband  carries 
her  plaid  for  her,  and  is  always  at  her  beck  and  call. 
But  the  real  meaning  of  the  affair  no  one  cares  to  know. 
You  know  that  in  good  society  people  don't  speak  and 
don't  even  think  of  certain  details  of  the  toilet;  well,  it 
is  the  same  here." 

"  Are  you  going  to  Rolandaki's  fite  ?  "  asked  Anna, 
to  change  the  conversation. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  replied  Betsy ;  and,  not  looking  at 
her  companion,  she  carefully  poured  the  fragrant  tea 
into  little  transparent  cups.  Then,  having  handed  one 
to  Anna,  she  rolled  a  cigarette,  and,  putting  it  into  a 
silver  holder,  she  began  to  smoke. 

"You  see,  I  am  in  a  fortunate  position,"  she  began 
seriously,  holding  her  cup  in  her  hand.  "  I  understand 
you,  and  I  understand  Liza.  Liza  is  one  of  these  nai've, 
childlike  natures,  who  cannot  distinguish  between  ill  and 
good,  —  at  least,  she  was  so  when  she  was  young,  and 
now  she  knows  that  this  simplicity  is  becoming  to  her. 
Now  perhaps  she  purposely  fails  to  understand  the  dis- 
tinction," said  Betsy,  with  a  sly  smile.  "  But  all  the 
same,  it  becomes  her.  You  see,  it  is  quite  possible  to 
look  on  things  from  a  tragic  standpoint,  and  to  get  tor- 
ment out  of  them;  and  it  is  possible  to  look  on  it  sim- 
ply, and  even  gayly.  Possibly  you  are  inclined  to  look 
on  things  too  tragically." 

"  How  I  should  like  to  know  others  as  well  as  I  know 
myself!  "  said  Anna,  with  a  serious  and  pensive  look. 
"Am  I  worse  than  others,  or  better.?     Worse,  I  think." 

"You  are  an  enfant  terrible,  an  enfant  tertible^"  was 
Betsy's  comment.     "  But  here  they  are ! " 


Steps  were  heard,  and  a  man's  voice,  then  a  woman's 
voice  and  laughter,  and  immediately  after  the  expected 
guests  came  in :  Safo  Stoltz,  and  a  young  man  called 
Vaska,  whose  face  shone  with  exuberant  health.  It  was 
evident  that  rich  blood-making  beef,  burgundy,  and  truffles 


had  accomplished  their  work.  Vaska  bowed  to  the  two 
ladies  and  glanced  at  them,  but  only  for  a  second.  He 
followed  Safo  into  the  drawing-room,  and  he  followed 
her  through  the  drawing-room,  as  if  he  had  been  tied  to 
her,  and  he  kept  his  brilliant  eyes  fastened  on  her  as  if 
he  wished  to  devour  her.  Safo  Stoltz  was  a  blond  with 
black  eyes.  She  wore  shoes  with  enormously  high  heels, 
and  she  came  in  with  slow,  vigorous  steps,  and  shook 
hands  with  the  ladies  energetically,  like  a  man. 

Anna  had  never  before  met  with  this  new  celebrity, 
and  was  struck,  not  only  by  her  beauty,  but  by  the  ex- 
travagance of  her  toilet  and  the  boldness  of  her  man- 
ners. On  her  head  was  a  veritable  scaffolding  of  false 
and  natural  hair  of  a  lovely  golden  hue,  and  of  a  height 
corresponding  to  the  mighty  proportions  of  her  protu- 
berant and  very  visible  bosom.  Her  dress  was  so  tightly 
pulled  back,  that  at  every  movement  it  outlined  the 
shape  of  her  knees  and  thighs  ;  and  involuntarily  the 
question  arose :  Where,  under  this  enormous,  tottering 
mountain,  did  her  neat  little  body,  so  exposed  above, 
and  so  tightly  laced  below,  really  end .'' 

Betsy  made  haste  to  introduce  her  to  Anna. 

"  Can  you  imagine  it  ?  We  almost  ran  over  two 
soldiers,"  she  instantly  began  to  relate,  winking,  smiling, 
and  kicking  back  her  train,  which  she  in  turn  threw  too 
far  over  to  the  other  side.  "  I  was  coming  with  Vaska 
....  oh,  yes !  You  are  not  acquainted."  And  she  intro- 
duced the  young  man  by  his  family  name,  laughing 
heartily  at  her  mistake  in  calling  him  Vaska  before 
strangers.  Vaska  bowed  a  second  time  to  Anna,  but 
said  nothing  to  her.     He  turned  to  Safo. 

"The  wager  is  lost.  We  came  first,"  said  he,  smiling. 
"You  must  pay." 

Safo  laughed  still  more  gayly. 

"  Not  now,  though,"  said  she. 

"  All  right ;  I  '11  take  it  by  and  by." 

"  Very  well,  very  well !  Oh,  by  the  way  !  "  she  sud- 
denly cried  out  to  the  hostess.  "  I  ....  forgot  ....stupid 
that  I  was  !     I  bring  you  a  guest ;  here  he  is." 

The  young  guest  whom  Safo  presented,  after  having 


forgotten  him,  was  a  guest  of  such  importance  that,  not- 
withstanding his  youth,  all  the  ladies  rose  to  receive  him. 

This  was  Safo's  new  adorer;  and,  just  as  Vaska  did, 
he  followed  her  every  step. 

Immediately  after  came  Prince  Kaluzhsky  and  Liza 
Merkalof  with  Stremof.  Liza  was  a  rather  thin  brunette, 
with  an  Oriental,  indolent  type  of  countenance,  and  with 
ravishing,  and  as  everybody  said,  inscrutable  eyes.  The 
style  of  her  dark  dress  was  absolutely  in  keeping  with 
her  beauty.  Anna  noticed  it,  and  approved.  Liza 
was  as  quiet  and  unpretentious  as  Safo  was  loud  and 

But  Liza,  for  Anna's  taste,  was  vastly  more  attractive. 
Betsy,  in  speaking  of  her  to  Anna,  had  ridiculed  her 
affectation  of  the  manner  of  an  innocent  child ;  but 
when  Anna  saw  her,  she "  felt  that  this  was  not  fair. 
Liza  was  really  an  innocent,  gentle,  and  irresponsible 
woman,  a  little  spoiled.  To  be  sure,  her  morals  were 
the  same  as  Safo's.  She  also  had  in  her  train,  as  if 
sewed  to  her,  two  adorers,  one  young,  the  other  old, 
who  devoured  her  with  their  eyes.  But  there  was  some- 
thing about  her  better  than  her  surroundings;  she  was 
like  a  diamond  of  the  purest  water  surrounded  by  glass. 
The  brilliancy  shone  out  of  her  lovely,  enigmatical  eyes. 
The  wearied  and  yet  passionate  look  of  her  eyes,  sur- 
rounded by  dark  circles,  struck  one  by  its  absolute  sin- 
cerity. Any  one  looking  into  their  depths  would  think 
that  he  knew  her  completely ;  and  to  know  her  was  to 
love  her.  At  the  sight  of  Anna,  her  whole  face  sud- 
denly lighted  up  with  a  happy  smile. 

"  Oh !  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  "  she  said,  as  she 
went  up  to  her.  "  Yesterday  afternoon  at  the  races  I 
wanted  to  get  to  you,  but  you  had  just  gone.  I  was  so 
anxious  to  see  you  yesterday  especially !  Too  bad, 
was  n't  it .-' "  S3,id  she,  gazing  at  Anna  with  a  look  which 
seemed  to  disclose  her  whole  soul. 

"  Yes !  I  never  would  have  believed  that  anything 
could  be  so  exciting,"  replied  Anna,  with  some  color. 

The  company  now  began  to  get  ready  to  go  to  the 


"  I  am  not  going,"  said  Liza,  sitting  down  near  Anna 
"  You  are  n't  going,  are  you  ?  What  pleasure  can  any 
one  find  in  croquet?" 

"  But  I  am  very  fond  of  it,"  said  Anna. 

"  There  !  how  is  it  that  you  don't  get  ennuy^e  ?  To 
look  at  you  is  a  joy.     You  live,  but  I  vegetate." 

"  How  vegetate  .-'  Why  !  they  say  you  have  the  gay- 
est society  in  Petersburg,"  said  Anna. 

"  Perhaps  those  who  are  not  of  our  circle  are  still 
more  ennuyee.  But  we,  it  seems  to  me,  are  not  happy, 
but  are  bored,  terribly  bored." 

Safo  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  went  to  the  lawn  with 
the  two  young  men.  Betsy  and  Stremof  stayed  at 
the  tea-table. 

"  How  bored } "  asked  Betsy.  "  Safo  says  she  had  a 
delightful  evening  with  you  yesterday." 

"Oh  !  how  unendurable  it  was  !  "  said  Liza.  "They 
all  came  to  my  house  with  me  after  the  races,  and  it 
was  all  so  utterly  monotonous.  It  is  forever  one  and  the 
same  thing.  They  sat  on  the  divans  the  whole  evening. 
How  could  that  be  delightful.?  No;  but  what  do  you 
do  to  keep  from  being  bored  .-*"  she  asked  again  of 
Anna.  "  It  is  enough  to  look  at  you !  You  are  evi- 
dently a  woman  who  can  be  happy  or  unhappy,  but 
never  emiuy/e.     Now  explain  what  you  do." 

"  I  don't  do  anything,"  said  Anna,  confused  by  such 
a  stream  of  questions. 

"That  is  the  best  way,"  said  Stremof,  joining  the 

Stremof  was  a  man  fifty  years  old,  rather  gray,  but 
well  preserved,  very  ugly,  but  with  a  face  full  of  char- 
acter and  intelligence.  Liza  Merkalof  was  his  wife's 
niece,  and  he  spent  with  her  all  his  leisure  time.  Though 
he  was  an  employee  in  the  service  of  Alekser  Aleksandro- 
vitch's  political  enemies,  he  endeavored,  now  that  he  met 
Anna  in  society,  to  act  the  man  of  the  world,  and  be 
exceedingly  amiable  to  his  enemy's  wife. 

"The  very  best  way  is  to  do  nothing,"  he  continued, 
with  his  wise  smile.  "  I  have  been  telling  you  this  long 
time,"  turning  to  Liza  Merkalof,  "that,  if  you  don't  want 


to  be  bored,  you  must  not  think  that  it  is  possible  to  be 
bored ;  just  as  one  must  not  be  afraid  of  not  sleeping  if 
he  is  troubled  with  insomnia.  This  is  just  what  Anna 
Arkadyevna  told  you." 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  if  I  had  said  so,"  said  Anna, 
"because  it  is  not  only  clever,  it  is  true." 

"  But  will  you  tell  me  why  it  is  not  hard  to  go  to 
sleep,  and  not  hard  to  be  free  from  ennui  V 

"To  sleep,  you  must  work;  and  to  be  happy,  you 
must  also  work." 

"  But  how  can  I  work  when  my  labor  is  useful  to  no 
one  ?     But  to  make  believe,  —  I  neither  can  nor  will." 

"You  are  incorrigible,"  sajd  he,  not  looking  at  her, 
but  turning  to  Anna  again.  He  rarely  met  her,  and 
could  not  well  speak  to  her  except  in  the  way  of  small 
talk ;  but  he  understood  how  to  say  light  things  grace- 
fully, and  he  asked  her  when  she  was  going  back  to 
Petersburg,  and  whether  she  liked  the  Countess  Lidya 
Ivanovna.  And  he  asked  these  questions  in  a  man- 
ner which  showed  his  desire  to  be  her  friend,  and  to 
express  his  consideration  and  respect. 

Tushkievitch  came  in  just  then  and  explained  that 
the  whole  company  was  waiting  for  the  croquet  players. 

"  No,  don't  go,  I  beg  of  you,"  said  Liza,  when  she 
found  that  Anna  was  not  intending  to  stay.  Stremof 
added  his  persuasions. 

"It  is  too  great  a  contrast,"  said  he,  "between  our 
society  and  old  Vrede's ;  and  then,  you  will  be  for  her 
only  an  object  for  slander,  while  here  you  will  only 
awaken  very  different  sentiments,  quite  the  opposite 
of  slander  and  ill-feeling." 

Anna  remained  for  a  moment  in  uncertainty.  This 
witty  man's  flattering  words,  the  childlike  and  naive 
sympathy  shown  her  by  Liza  Merkalof,  and  all  this 
agreeable  social  atmosphere,  so  opposed  to  what  she 
expected  elsewhere,  caused  her  a  moment  of  hesitation. 
Could  she  not  postpone  the  terrible  moment  of  expla- 
nation }  But  remembering  what  she  had  to  expect 
alone  at  home  if  she  should  not  come  to  some  decision, 
remembering   the   pain   that    she    had    felt   when    she 


pulled  her  hair  with  both  hands,  not  knowing  what 
she  did,  so  great  was  her  mental  anguish,  she  took 
leave,  and  went. 


Vronsky,  in  spite  of  his  worldly  life  and  his  apparent 
frivolity,  was  a  man  who  detested  confusion.  Once, 
when  still  a  lad  in  the  School  of  Pages,  he  found  him- 
self short  of  money,  and  met  with  a  humiliating  refusal 
when  he  tried  to  borrow.  He  vowed  that  henceforth 
he  would  not  expose  himself  to  such  a  humiliation  again, 
and  he  kept  his  word.  In  order  to  keep  his  affairs  in 
order,  he  made,  more  or  less  often,  according  to  circum- 
stances, but  at  least  five  times  a  year,  an  examination  of 
his  affairs.  He  called  this  "straightening  his  affairs," 
or,  in  French,  faire  sa  lessive. 

The  morning  after  the  races  Vronsky  woke  late,  and 
without  stopping  to  shave,  or  take  his  bath,  put  on  his 
kitel,  or  soldier's  linen  frock,  and,  placing  his  money  and 
bills  and  paper  on  the  table,  proceeded  to  the  work  of 
settling  his  accounts.  Petritsky,  knowing  that  his  com- 
rade was  likely  to  be  irritable  when  engaged  in  such 
occupation,  quietly  got  up,  and  slipped  out  without  dis- 
turbing him. 

Every  man  acquainted,  even  to  the  minutest  details, 
with  all  the  complications  of  his  surroundings,  involun- 
tarily supposes  that  the  complications  and  tribulations  of 
his  life  are  a  personal  and  private  grievance  peculiar  to 
himself,  and  never  thinks  that  others  are  subjected  to 
the  same  complications  of  their  personal  troubles  he  him- 
self is.  Thus  it  seemed  to  Vronsky.  And  not  without 
inward  pride,  and  not  without  reason,  he  felt  that,  until 
the  present  time,  he  had  done  well  in  avoiding  the 
embarrassments  to  which  every  one  else  would  have  suc- 
cumbed. But  he  felt  that  now  it  was  necessary  for  him 
to  examine  into  his  affairs,  so  as  not  to  be  embarrassed. 

First,  because  it  was  the  easiest  to  settle,  Vronsky 
investigated   his   pecuniary  status.      He  wrote   in  his 


fluent,  delicate  hand  a  schedule  of  all  his  debts,  and 
adding  them  up  found  that  the  total  amounted  to  seven- 
teen thousand  rubles,  and  some  odd  hundreds,  which  he 
let  go  for  the  sake  of  clearness.  Counting  up  his  ready- 
money  and  his  bank-book,  he  had  only  eighteen  hun- 
dred rubles,  with  no  hope  of  more  until  the  new  year. 
Looking  over  the  schedule  of  his  debts,  Vronsky  classi- 
fied them,  putting  them  into  three  categories:  first,  the 
urgent  debts,  or,  in  other  words,  those  that  required  ready 
money,  so  that,  in  case  of  requisition,  there  might  not  be 
a  moment  of  delay.  These  amounted  to  four  thousand 
rubles,  —  fifteen  hundred  for  his  horse,  and  twenty-five 
hundred  as  a  guaranty  for  his  young  comrade,  Venevsky, 
who  had,  in  Vronsky's  company,  lost  this  amount  in  play- 
ing with  a  sharper.  Vronsky,  at  the  time,  had  wanted 
to  hand  over  the  money,  since  he  had  it  with  him ; 
but  Venevsky  and  Yashvin  insisted  on  paying  it,  rather 
than  Vronsky,  who  had  not  been  playing.  This  was  all 
very  well ;  but  Vronsky  knew  that  in  this  disgraceful 
affair,  in  which  his  only  participation  was  going  as 
Venevsky's  guaranty,  it  was  necessary  to  have  these 
twenty-five  hundred  rubles  ready  to  throw  at  the  rascal's 
head,  and  not  to  have  any  words  with  him.  Thus,  he 
had  to  reckon  the  category  of  urgent  debts  as  four 
thousand  rubles. 

In  the  second  category  were  eight  thousand  rubles 
of  debts,  and  these  were  less  imperative.  These  were 
what  he  owed  on  his  stable  account,  for  oats  and  hay, 
to  his  English  trainer,  and  other  incidentals.  At  a 
pinch,  two  thousand  would  suffice  to  leave  him  perfectly 
easy  in  mind.  The  remaining  debts  were  to  his  tailor, 
and  other  furnishers;  and  they  could  wait.  In  conclu- 
sion, he  found  that  he  needed,  for  immediate  use,  six 
thousand  rubles,  and  he  had  only  eighteen  hundred. 

For  a  man  with  an  income  of  a  hundred  thousand 
rubles,  —  as  people  supposed  Vronsky  to  have, — it  would 
seem  as  if  such  debts  as  these  could  not  be  very  em- 
barrassing ;  but  the  fact  was  that  he  had  not  an  income 
of  a  hundred  thousand  rubles.  The  large  paternal 
estate,  producing  two  hundred  thousand  rubles  a  year, 



had  been  divided  between  the  two  brothers.  But  when 
the  elder  brother,  laden  with  debts,  married  the  Princess 
Varia  Tchirkof,  the  daughter  of  a  Dekabrist,^  who 
brought  him  no  fortune,  Aleksei  yielded  him  his  share 
of  the  inheritance,  reserving  only  an  income  of  twenty- 
five  thousand  rubles.  He  told  his  brother  that  this 
would  be  sufficient  for  him  until  he  married,  which  he 
thought  would  never  happen.  His  brother,  who  was  in 
command  of  one  of  the  most  expensive  regiments  in  the 
service  and  only  just  married,  could  not  refuse  this  gift. 

His  mother,  who  possessed  an  independent  fortune, 
kept  twenty-five  thousand  rubles  for  herself  and  gave 
her  younger  son  a  yearly  allowance  of  twenty  thousand 
rubles ;  and  Aleksef  spent  the  whole  of  it.  Recently 
the  countess,  angry  with  him  on  account  of  his  depar- 
ture from  Moscow  and  his  disgraceful  liaison,  had  ceased 
to  remit  to  him  any  money.  So  that  Vronsky,  who  was 
accustomed  to  living  on  a  forty-five  thousand  ruble  foot- 
ing, and  having  this  year  only  twenty-five  thousand, 
found  himself  in  some  extremity.  He  could  not  apply 
to  his  mother  to  help  him  out  of  his  difficulty,  for  her 
letter  which  he  had  received  the  day  before  angered 
him  by  the  insinuations  which  it  contained :  she  was 
ready,  it